A Winter interlude
by Ponaco
Summary: Following the events of 'Callous Logic,' a series of one shots, each focusing on a different POV character during the winter months in the city. These will stretch from cute to angst-ridden and everything in between.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Notes: So, instead of writing a traditional epilogue for Callous Logic I've decided to do a series of one-shots as a bit of an interlude between Callous Logic and the yet-untitled third fic in the series. Each little story will take place a few weeks after the end of CL and will feature a different POV character. Up first is Donatello.  
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** Some of these are partially based off of writing prompts I have received through my tumblr. I tend to post these first over there, along with other, random prompts I get that don't take place in the Click-verse. **

**If you feel like following along :0) Enjoy!**

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I wanna Dance with Somebody

Donatello

"Can I look yet?" I ask, shifting nervously in my seat.

"No, don't you dare!" she says instantly, her voice holding a shrill edge.

I crinkle my nose and try to peer underneath my bandana which she tied backwards over my eyes. "You know, I'm not the biggest fan of surprises," I say with another nose crinkle.

_Even less of being left in the dark._

"You'll like this one, I promise," she replies, her voice further away. "Stop trying to peek!"

I sigh and lean back in my computer chair, resigned to my fate. The last few minutes have been nothing less than an ambush and I'm very much at her mercy. I was working in my lab, minding my own business when she pounced. I didn't expect to see her tonight and technically I still haven't. She crept up behind me and turned my mask around before I could register what was happening, stopping short any retaliation with a press of her lips over mine. As far as ambushes go, this one wasn't half bad.

"I'm not," I insist, rocking back and forth. "Just…whatever you're doing, please be careful. There are a lot of volatile…"

_Crash!_

"It's fine! I got it! Don't peek!" she cries when I wince and move to stand.

Her words do very little to calm my nerves as another, if not smaller crash follows.

"Sit, it's fine. I'm serious, don't look! You'll ruin the surprise," she says, grunting as she picks up whatever it is she knocked over. "I didn't break anything. I promise."

I grimace and reach back in search of the chair's arms to help guide me to the seat. "Please be careful," I say in a voice that's dangerously close to a whimper.

"I will, I will," she says, her feet shuffling along the floor as she scurries about.

I strain my ears to listen to every scrape and swish as she leaves me waiting once more. A quiet tune hangs on the air as she hums quietly. She's excited. I suppose that should make me excited too. It only makes me nervous. I wiggle in my chair and pull idly at the wraps on my left hand. The scent of wildflowers drifts past my nose and I smile when her lips brush against mine. I crane my neck up to deepen the kiss and pout when she pulls out of my reach.

"I wanted to do something special for you," she says quietly, the feel of her breath against my skin making me shiver.

"Y-yeah?" I reply with zero finesse and a voice that cracks over the single word.

She presses her lips to the side of my neck and I can feel her smile. "Yes," she says, reaching up to pull the mask from my eyes.

I blink away the sudden light, squinting until my vision comes into focus; until she comes into focus.

_Oh._

"Well?" she asks with a coy smile. "Are you surprised?"

I don't know what to say, words fail me completely so I only nod. My lab is decorated with twirling crepe paper and shiny stars that hang from the ceiling. The lights are dimmed to a level that would never be acceptable while I work. It cloaks the entire space in shadows that break and scurry from the glitter and shine of the decorations. An impressive spread of food and drink sit on a white cloth across one of my lab tables and the slow beat of music plays from the computer speakers. None of it holds a candle to her.

She's standing close enough that our knees touch when I inch forward. Her hair held off her neck in a delicate up-do that has already allowed several tendrils to break free. I reach out a tentative hand to brush my fingers over the dusting of freckles across her exposed shoulders. She's wearing a dress. The dress. The one I thought she bought for him. The one that made jealousy and self-loathing burn and twist into something ugly and bitter in my stomach. I was wrong. I was entirely wrong.

"Why?" I murmur, tracing my finger along the delicate fabric.

She lowers her gaze and even in the dim light I can see the pink tint that covers her cheeks. "Well…tonight is my school's Winter Formal and, well, I couldn't bring you to the dance so I thought I'd bring the dance to you."

_She wanted to go to the dance. You can't even do that for her. _

I swallow, letting go of the tiny fold between my fingers. She shouldn't have gone to all this trouble. I should have. It's her dance she's missing. I should have known she wanted to go. I should have been the one trying to make up for having to miss it.

"You don't…you don't like it?" she asks and the small hitch to her breath makes my heart clench. "It's silly, I know, I just thought…"

"It's wonderful," I say, reaching out to take her hand. "And you look," I sigh, no longer having to feign any sort of sincerity. "You look so beautiful. I mean, not that you don't always look beautiful…"

She stops me with a kiss and I close my eyes to lean into the embrace. My hand slides across the sheer fabric to settle on her waist before pulling her down onto my lap. She laughs and I feel all of my anxiety and guilt drift away with the warm sound of it. She puts her hands flat against my plastron to push up gently.

"Dance with me," she says.

With her smiling at me like that I could never say no.

She takes my hand and pulls me to her make-shift dance floor. My nerves flutter to life again as I cast a wary eye at the speakers and the slow music playing behind us.

"I uh…I don't really know how to dance to this," I admit with a sheepish grin.

"There isn't much to it," she says, taking my hands and placing them on her hips once more. "It's mostly swaying."

She reaches up to rest her hands at the back of my neck and leans against me. We move slowly in time to the music and after a few awkward steps and tense shoulders I begin to relax. She sighs quietly and her eyes flutter closed. I smile and lean down to kiss the top of her head. A sudden wave of bravery passes over me and I slide a hand down to cup her backside.

"Hands north of the border mister," she says with a chuckle.

"Hmm?" I reply, playing dumb and giving her a squeeze.

I'm rewarded with a squeak and wiggle before she laughs and drops a hand to swat me across the shoulder. "I'm on to you…" she stops mid-sentence as the music changes to a new song. Her eyes grow wide and she swats me again. "Oh! _Dirty dancing_!" she says excitedly.

"Uh…what?" I say with a slightly nervous chuckle, not having to play dumb this time.

"The song," she says as if that's an actual answer. She sighs and crinkles her nose in disbelief when I can continue to stare at her in confusion. "It's the song that they dance to at the end of the movie."

"Oh, well, I must have missed out on that cinematic masterpiece," I reply, covering up my laugh with a sheepish smile when it's obvious my sarcasm is not appreciated.

She shakes her head and pulls away from me. "That simply won't do," she mumbles, scurrying over to the computer.

Before I can stop her she's already searching for videos. "Whoops," she says, quickly closing out of a screen that is clearly not the dirty dancing she was looking for. "I can't believe you've never seen this," she insists, finally finding the scene in question. "I must have watched this movie a hundred times when I was little."

"To be fair, I don't think I'm their target audience," I reply in my defense.

She's too busy watching the video to pay me any mind and I'm too busy watching her to care. Her eyes light up as she points and flails her hand at the screen, describing in gushing details all the backstory I'm ignorant of for each and every character that flashes past. She starts to sway her hips and stiltedly mime the movements of the dancers and I'm fairly certain it is the cutest thing I have ever seen. I'm grinning before too long and will gladly sit through the entire movie if it makes her even half as happy as this one scene seems to.

"Oh! We have to try the lift!" she says, turning on me with her hands clasped in front of her. "You could totally do it."

"Well, maybe not in here. I mean…the floor is concrete…"

"Back up," she instructs me, ignoring my caution.

"April, I…" I start to protest but she has already squared her shoulders and ducked her head like a sprinter waiting for the starting gun.

I take a few hurried steps backwards and she charges towards me. I manage to get my hands on her hips as she leaps from the ground and hoist her up over my head. She lets out a triumphant shout that is the unnatural love child of a battle cry and an excited dolphin. I try to keep her steady, shifting my feet to gain more balance. My right hand refuses to grip her properly and I can feel my wrist start to tremble.

"You…you gotta keep straight," I insist as she drops her left hip.

"I am," she says, squealing when I lose my grip and she rolls down into my arms.

"You're not," I reply, laughing at the infectious grin plastered on her face.

"I guess we'll just have to agree to disagree," she says with a cheeky grin, swinging her feet and leaning her head against my plastron.

I shift her in my arms and lower my head to kiss her lips. Her hands reach up and find the back of my neck once more, pulling me closer. She's warm and inviting and tastes of peppermint. I lose myself in the feel of her pressed against me; her scent filling my head and chasing away any bad thoughts that might think to creep from the darkness. The kiss deepens and the fabric of her dress swishes and slides as she moves to wrap her legs around me.

"Do you like my dress?" she asks in a breathy voice that makes me shudder.

"Very much," I reply quietly, a small sigh escaping my lips when she moves her mouth along my jawline.

"I'm glad," she murmurs and I feel her smile around her next kiss before she cranes her neck up to whisper in my ear. "Maybe later you can help me take it off."

_Oh my._


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's notes: So this started as a short little drabble about Casey helping Raph lift weights after the injuries he sustained in _Callous Logic _and then morphed into this much longer piece about the nature of their friendship. It takes place a few weeks after the last chapter of CL, actually on the same night that Donnie and April have their little dance. PG13 for some language and let's say boys being boys. Hope you like it!**

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Easy

"Come on, man. You can do it, two more," Casey says, his hands hovering just underneath the bar as I struggle to lift it over my head.

The pain in my shoulder shoots up past my elbow and makes my eyes water at the edges. I'm not going to give up. I'm not going to let the pain or the weakness stop me from finishing this set. I can do it. There is barely any weight on the bar. I should be able to do this in my sleep. I grind my teeth and push upwards one last time. A growl crawls out of my throat as I finally lift high enough to set the bar back on the frame. I drop my arms down, the muscles burning and putting up a fight.

"Nice," Casey says. "That's probably enough for tonight. I gotta get going or I'll be late for practice."

He adds the last part quickly. He knows I don't have another set in me and is trying to save me some scrap of dignity. I don't need his charity. I don't need him to baby me. My brothers are doing that enough for everyone. I sit up with a grunt and crack my neck from one side to the other.

"Go if you're going," I grumble, snagging the towel off the end of the weight bench.

"You should stop by later," he says, shrugging into his coat and ignoring my bad mood. "The games on. We can order Chinese," he adds with a smirk. "That is if the warden will let you leave."

"I can come and go whenever I want," I reply, instantly taking the bait with a scowl and puff of my chest. "Leo ain't my keeper."

He snorts and pulls his hood up over his head. "All right then. Text me when you're gonna leave. Wait in the alley and I'll come down and let ya in. Don't need you falling off the fire escape."

I feel a sneer start to pull back on my lip but settle on a scowl when he laughs. "You're the one who falls off fire escapes, not me," I mutter.

He laughs again and I punch him in the back to remind him just who is stronger. He winces and tries to cover it with a cough, but I saw it and my scowl quickly turns into a smirk. I win. He slinks out of the dojo with a wave and I head for the showers. The lair is dark and the uncharacteristic quiet makes me uneasy. Leo and Mikey are out on patrol and Donnie's lab door is closed. I strain my ears and hear the grating notes of a pop song followed by April's lilting laughter. There's no way I am going to interrupt whatever it is they thought they had to do behind closed doors, so I lower my head and slouch off towards the bathroom.

The hot water feels amazing against my sore muscles and I dip my head into the stream to let it drum against the back of my neck. It has been weeks since I was shot and I'm still nowhere near a hundred percent. Sensei keeps insisting that I need to be patient that these things take time. He can spout the virtues of patience all he likes. I'm going to work through this. I won't get any better sitting on my ass, letting Mikey feed me and Donnie fret over every wince and grimace. My fingers brush against the knot of scar tissue on my shoulder and I open my eyes to stare down at it. At least it looks cool, I guess.

I turn the water off and instantly shiver in the cold air. I hate the winter. Even with the hot water heater and the industrial furnace Donnie rigged up the lair always has a chill. Spring can't come soon enough. I towel off and move to my room, inching around the corner in case Sensei is lurking. He'll stop me if he knows I plan on leaving. It's not disobeying if I leave without asking. Better to beg forgiveness or whatever.

The tunnels are colder than the lair, a lot colder. Even with the stupid coat and hat I'm wearing my teeth start to shiver and my muscles cramp. My toes curl in the too-small boots shoved onto my feet and I grumble and curse all the way to Casey's apartment. It takes me longer than I'd like him to know, so I wait until the familiar tunnel number near his place before sending out a quick text. He doesn't need more ammunition to make fun of me.

The climb up the ladder sucks. There's no nice way to say it. My arms are still sore from lifting and I have to place most of my weight on my good leg to keep from sliding down into the muck below. It's dark and snowing when I reach street level and I hate winter just a little bit more. I flip up the collar on my coat and duck my head before trudging across the street to the alley alongside Casey's building. I slide my T-phone from my pocket and fumble around with the mittens covering my hands before managing to send out another text.

**Hurry up, idiot. It's freezing.**

A few minutes later the front door of the building opens, casting a yellow beam of light out onto the snow-covered sidewalk. He darts over to the alley in nothing but a sweatshirt and jeans, his sneakers slipping and squeaking over the snow.

"Aw, come on. Are ya cold, princess?" he asks with a snicker even as his remaining teeth chattering.

I give him a shove and his sneakers slip in the slushy snow making him land in a tangle of flailing limbs. A bark of laughter comes from deep in my chest when he tries to stand and only slips once more.

"Big, bad hockey player can't even stand on an icy sidewalk," I say with a snicker.

My laughter is cut short when he reaches out and wails against the back of my knee, making me lose my balance. I try to fall forward but drop back on my shell instead. My arms flail for a few horrible seconds before I gain my footing and push up onto my knees. Casey breaks out into a cackling fit of laughter that makes my eyes narrow and my hand curl into a fist. A snowball between the eyes makes him stop laughing.

"Truce! Truce!" he cries, holding up his hands, which have turned bright red from the cold. "Come on, jack ass, before someone sees ya," he says, bracing his hand on the light post to heave himself to his feet.

I follow him inside, the warmth of the building instantly making my exposed skin sting from the temperature change. The doorman is asleep behind his desk and Casey rolls his eyes as we walk past. The tiny elevator groans when we step inside, the carpet beneath our feet covered in unappealing stains. The entire building holds the unappealing odor of stale cigarettes and the combined cooking smells of a million different meals. It isn't in the best part of town and you wouldn't live there if you could afford something better. I wouldn't expect Casey to live anywhere else.

He opens the door to his family's apartment and tosses the keys into a bowl next to the door. The T.V. is already blaring the hockey game and several containers of Chinese food sit scattered across the kitchen table. He shakes the snow from his hair like a wet dog and frowns at the wet state of his clothes.

"There's beer in the fridge," he says with a nod, peeling off his sweatshirt to drape it over one of the kitchen chairs. "I'm gonna change."

I stand awkwardly in the middle of the kitchen as he goes off to his bedroom to change. I take off my hat and mittens, setting them in a pile on the table before unzipping my coat. With the zipper down it doesn't pull so much on my shell. I'll deal with it a few minutes longer until I warm up. I open the fridge and snag one of the offered beers. I crack the top and take a long pull, closing my eyes as the cold liquid travels down into my stomach. It's a cheap, watery brew but I don't care. It isn't water or one of Master Splinter's god awful teas and I'm not drinking it in the lair. It's perfect.

"Dude, you should have seen what happened at practice," Casey says, stumbling back into the kitchen. He leans over the table and grabs one of the food containers, ripping open the top before shoveling some fried noodles into his mouth. "McCoy took a puck right to the face. Broke his nose, took out two teeth, there was blood everywhere. It was epic. He was out cold," he says, laughing around a mouthful of noodles.

He continues to blather on about his hockey practice and we take the food into the living room. His ability to hold anything resembling a conversation slips away as his attention is given to the game on the screen. He's not the best at multi-tasking. That's fine. I don't much feel like talking anyway. Two beers, forty minutes of hockey and about thirty chirping text message alerts on Casey's phone later and I'm feeling a lot less amiable.

"I could leave if you're busy," I mutter as he grins like an idiot down at his glowing cellphone screen.

"Huh?" he replies, eagerly typing in a response to the message.

Whoever is texting him must be pretty important if they can drag him away from a Rangers game. I take a swig of beer and point at him with the can.

"You haven't taken your face away from that phone all night," I say, shaking the remaining liquid in the can. "If you want to be alone…"

"What? Oh, no, man," he says with a grin. "It's just Jenny," he adds, scrolling his thumb across the screen as he leans over and flashes the phone in my direction. "Check out this picture she sent me."

My eyes widen and a wave of heat instantly burns across my face. I push his hand away and try not to think about the topless photo of the young woman still very much visible on the screen.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" I demand with a huff. "I don't want to see naked pictures of your girlfriend."

"She's not my girlfriend," he says, looking back down at the phone with a smirk. "We're just having fun."

"Do you think she'd think it's fun that you're showing her picture to strangers?" I ask, crossing my arms over my chest.

He almost looks ashamed but shrugs it off. "Hey, it ain't like I put it on the internet or something," he says, practically pouting. "Just thought you'd get a kick out of it," he mutters, slouching down into the couch. "So sorry I hurt your honor or something. Thought you liked girls."

My face burns and I feel a familiar squirm of anger start to move in the pit of my stomach. He's making fun of me. Who does he think he is? My hand closes into a fist, crushing the beer can. I don't have to sit here and listen to this.

"Fuck you," I growl, the angry words tumbling out of mouth before I can stop them.

I stand up, not caring that my knee crashes into the coffee table. I barely notice the pain, stumbling into the kitchen. I tear my coat off the back of the chair, cursing when it gets tangled and the chair clatters to the floor. I resist the urge to kick it. I shove my arm into the sleeve, wincing at the stiffness in my shoulder. He's standing in the doorway, watching me with a blank expression on his stupid face.

"Raph," he says in that same voice Mikey uses when he thinks he's in trouble.

I ignore him. He's not a quick learner, never has been so he doesn't know when to leave well enough alone.

"Raph, what the hell, man?" he says, coughing over a nervous laugh when I turn to glare at him. "Dude, I don't understand what just happened but I'm sorry."

I stare back at him, the red covering my thoughts slowly slipping away into something closer resembling shame. I turn away and finish pulling on my coat. Of course he doesn't understand. How could he? I need to get out of here. I never should have come in the first place.

"It's fine," I grumble, leaning over to begrudgingly struggle with my boots.

Even Casey can tell it obviously isn't fine and his face scrunches into a frown. "You suck at lying," he says, crossing his arms and leaning back against the doorframe. "Seriously, what's your problem? I just…"

"My problem is I don't really want to hear about your latest conquest," I snap.

He sighs and holds his arms out wide. "What, like you're so innocent or something? I've seen the magazines…"

"You really can't see how I might not want to hear about all the girls you're screwing?" I say with so much bitterness it stops him short. "You think I like hearing about it when I can't…when I'll never…" I trail off with my face burning from embarrassment.

I hate myself for saying it. I hate myself for making this into a problem in the first place. I should have just rolled my eyes when he flashed that picture and tuned out when he started going into the grittier details. I don't need him to feel sorry for me. That's the last thing I want. Things are supposed to be easy with Casey. They are easy. He's supposed to get it. We don't have to talk out our feelings or talk at all really. He's supposed to get it.

He sighs and rubs the back of his neck, actively avoiding my eyes. "I guess…I mean. I didn't really think about that."

I finally pull on my boots and grab my hat from the table. "Its fine," I say again, almost meaning it this time. "I better get going. Leo is probably having kittens…"

"I wasn't bragging or anything," Casey says quickly and I really wish he would stop talking. "I just…you're my best friend, man. If I don't tell you this stuff, who do I tell?"

I roll my shoulders and let out a long breath through my nose. This is dangerously close to sharing our feelings and hugging it out. I shift uncomfortably from one foot to the other and pull my hat down over my head. He's still avoiding my eyes like the plague and I'm grateful for it. I can't exactly bring myself to look him in the eye either. I square my shoulders and let out a sigh.

"You're my best friend too, idiot," I grumble, adding as my neck heats up under the collar of my coat. "And her tits are pretty fantastic."

His mouth lifts at the corner into a smirk and a lecherous snicker falls past his lips. "Yeah they are," he says, holding his hand up in hopes of a high five.

I roll my eyes and hit his palm hard enough to make him wince. "Dumb ass," I grumble.

"Prude," he says back, trying and failing to avoid the punch I land in the small of his back.

He laughs and leans over with a wince. This is how it's supposed to be; easy.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: The next little fic in the _Winter Interlude_ series. This one is an April POV, featuring the return of Irma. For those unfamiliar with my Verse Irma is not and never has been a Kraang. She's human and friends with April. April needs some friends, man. Girl Talk ahead…enjoy! **

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Um, there's a Giant Turtle in Your Room

"This is hopeless," Irma mutters, flipping the cover of her math book closed with an angry snap. "When am I ever going to use calculus? Can't they teach us something useful, like how to do our taxes or how to invest?"

This isn't the first time she has gone on a diatribe about the New York State high school curriculum and I doubt it will be the last. I tune her out when she starts in on gym class and the unfair advantage in the athletic hierarchy. My mind wanders back to the other night in Donnie's lab, as it has more often than not over the last few days. It had been a gamble, wearing that dress, decorating his lab. That look could have crossed his face, the tight press of his lips and downward turn of his eyes and screams his inner guilt for all to see. I hate that look. It was there. I'd be lying if I said I didn't see it, but luckily it didn't last; chased away by a bashful smile and the press of his lips to mine. My face warms at the memory and before I can stop myself I'm humming. I blink and feel the blush burn to life again when I realize Irma has stopped talking and is smirking at me.

"Oh, no, don't let me interrupt," she says with a wave of her hand.

"Sorry," I mumble with a little smile, lowering my head to hide my face in my text book.

She laughs and leans back on her hands. "What is with you lately?" she asks, leaning forward with a slightly suspicious narrowing of her eyes. "Things are going well with your secret boyfriend I can assume," she says with a knowing wiggle of her eyebrows.

I try not to blush, but thinking about it only makes my face burn brighter. "He's not…he's not a secret," I reply, already flustered. "I told you, he's in college."

"Uh huh," she says, tapping her pen against the cover of her math book. "And I seem to recall covering for you and an empty promise of stories afterwards," she laughs leaning back against the couch. "I haven't even seen a picture of him."

My blush vanishes and something cold and heavy settles in the pit of my stomach. "I…I don't think I have a picture," I say, trying to sound nonchalant, but stumbling over each word. "And nothing happened that night. We just hung out."

She raises one eyebrow and stares me down. I start to squirm, the blush roaring to life again across my face.

"Right…and nothing has happened since?" she asks, letting the question linger in awkward silence as I turn an even brighter shade of red and mumble an incoherent reply.

"Oh…my…God," she murmurs, her eyes the size of saucers. "You slept with him?" she says, her voice almost reaching the pitch of a dog whistle.

I blink and wave my hands. "What? No, no I didn't, we didn't!" I squeak, wondering if I can crawl underneath the carpet and die of embarrassment.

She doesn't look convinced one bit. My frustration twists into anger and I cross my arms over my chest. "We haven't," I snap, lifting my chin in defiance. "Not that it is any of your business."

She shakes her head and laughs, pointing at me. "Oh, no way are you getting out of this so easily," she says, scrambling to her feet. "I am going to make tea and you are going to tell me every last detail about this guy," she grips the back of the couch and looks down at me with a smile that is more sincere and not mocking like I feared. "I need to make sure he's good enough for you."

She practically skips into the kitchen and I mentally face-palm myself for being so transparent. My mind is racing with lies and half-truths to the questions I'm sure she'll ask. What does he look like? Tall, I'll say he's tall with brown eyes and the most adorable smile I've ever seen. My face warms and I bite my bottom lip. Maybe this isn't a bad thing. I've been practically bursting with the want to talk about him. It has always been difficult to keep the turtles a secret. There's this whole, wonderful, almost magical world full of adventures and danger and creatures beyond belief. I know all about it, I'm more a part of it than the so-called real world and yet I can't even talk to my friend about it. This is different. Donnie is different. It's not just adventure and secret worlds. It's something deeper, something much more personal.

I've never been in a relationship that lasted more than a couple weeks and here I am saying I love you and meaning it with every inch of me. It's scary and exciting all at once and I don't have anyone to talk to about it. A lump settles in my throat and my chest tightens with the suddenness of the emotion. It usually happens like this, sneaking up on me when I think I'm happy or safe. I should be used to it by now. I should expect it. It's always lurking around the milestones or in the quiet moments of the holidays, waiting for me to let my guard down. It's a heavy, constricting need that can't be fulfilled, because she's gone and no amount of need or wishing can bring my mother back.

"April?"

Irma's quiet voice pulls me from my thoughts and embarrassment crashes down on me once more when I realize a few stray tears have managed to fall.

"Oh, I…I'm sorry," she says immediately, setting the two steaming cups of tea on the coffee table before wrapping me in a hug. "I didn't mean…you don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. I'm sorry, I was just teasing," she pulls back, holding onto my shoulders her face settling into a mask of fury when I can't muster a reply. "Unless, that son of a bitch didn't hurt you, did he?" she demands. "Cause I'll kill him. Don't think that I won't."

"N-no, no, he didn't, he would never," I say, wiping feverishly at the few remaining tears and sniffing back any others that dared to even think about falling. "Its fine, I just, I don't know what came over me," I say, offering a shaky smile that does very little to convince her that I'm not a raving lunatic.

"All right," she says slowly with a shift of her jaw. "But you'd tell me if something was wrong, right?"

I nod. "Yes, yes of course," I say with a sigh that finally steadies my voice. "Definitely."

She sits back on her heels, still watching me with open concern. "Good, because…"

She cuts off with a tiny yelp at the soft, yet unquestionable sound of someone moving around in my bedroom. Her grip on my shoulders tightens and her eyes widen.

"Did you hear that?" she hisses, letting go and scooting around to stare down the hallway towards the bedrooms.

I bite my bottom lip and cast a quick glance at my T-phone to make sure I didn't miss a message, certain that whoever is moving around in my room is more turtle than burglar.

"No, Irma. I didn't hear a thing," I say, loud enough that I hope it is impossible not to be overheard.

She shoots me a look like I am quite possibly the dumbest person she's ever met and is on her feet before I can stop her. I blink in surprise. I didn't peg her as the bold type, but apparently possible home invasion is where Irma finds her courage. She grabs the broom leaning against the pantry door, holding it out in front of her like a sword and stalks down the hallway. I scramble after her and frantically grab for her arm in my panic.

"Irma, don't there's nothing…"

She shoots me another look and shakes free of my grasp, kicking open my bedroom door with a battle cry that would make Master Splinter proud. It seems to happen in slow motion. The door flies open and she steps forward with a barrage of threats and curses, her broom at the ready. All of her words fail her the second she sees him. He's wearing a sweatshirt with the hood pulled up over his head and a dusting of snow covering the blue material. Their eyes meet and I can't say for sure who looks more afraid. The stare last for what feels like an eternity, neither moving an inch. Irma blinks first. It's a slow, almost comical dip of her eyelids that end in a horror-movie scream. The scream is thankfully short lived and Donnie rushes forward to catch her when she faints.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, whispering as though Irma is sleeping and not out cold from shock. "Why didn't you call ahead?"

"I…I wanted to surprise you," he says with a pout that crinkles his nose. "You said you were alone."

"No, no what I said was my Dad was working late," I reply, rubbing my eyes. "Oh, this is…this is going to take some explaining."

His shoulders roll forward and his head drops. "I'm sorry," he says, sounding nothing short of miserable. "I didn't…I really thought you were by yourself."

He carries Irma over to my bed and sets her down on top of the covers. "Just once I'd like for someone not to scream when they see me."

He means it as a joke, but the words land flat and his smile is forced. I reach out and take his hand, turning it over in mine and running my thumb across the scars on his wrist. "It's all right," I say, lifting it to my mouth to kiss his cold skin. "We can trust her."

He sighs and offers a stiff nod. I stand up on my tiptoes and wrap my arms around his neck, forcing him to lean over towards me. "And what kind of surprise did you have planned?" I ask, kissing the tip of his nose. "And why was it important that I was alone?"

The skin on his cheeks darkens and a sheepish smile crosses his face. "Oh, well…I brought you this," he says, turning awkwardly to pull a disc from his bag with the words 'Dirty Dancing,' scrawled across the surface in his hurried hand writing. "I know how much you like it, so I thought we could watch it and order dinner," he adds quickly. "On the couch…together."

It's my turn to blush and I try to cover it by pulling him into a quick kiss. "That's very sweet of you," I say quietly.

I let go at the sound of Irma rousing from her unconscious state. I move over to the side of the bed and help her sit up as her eyes flutter open.

"A-April?" she murmurs, holding her hand up to her head.

"I'm right here, Irma. You're all right," I assure her, keeping my hand behind her shoulders to steady her.

"April…there um…did you know there's a giant turtle in your room?" she asks, her eyes still unfocused and her voice groggy.

I can't stop the laugh that bubbles up from my chest. "Yes, Irma. I know."


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: I come bearing a Mikey one-shot for you this morning. It takes place a week or so after the last April POV. For those who haven't read _Callous Logic_ much of this might be lost on you. It features the return of Dr. Feinstein who has a rather special place in my heart so I hope others at least find him enjoyable :0)**

**Next up will be a Leo one-shot. *Shakes fist at him to behave***

* * *

The Doctor will see you now

Michelangelo

A closed sign hangs on the clinic door. I cup my hands over my eyes and peer through the window, my breath instantly fogging up the glass. There's nothing inside but a darkened waiting room and an equally boring check-in desk. Donnie's hand rests on my shoulder and he gives me a little nudge. He's nervous; has been since we left the sewer. He shifts from one foot to the other and pulls on the neck of his sweatshirt with a grimace. I don't know why he's so nervous. It was his idea to come here. He practically begged Sensei. He's been researching this guy for weeks and now that we're here he's acting like it's a punishment.

"Come on," he says, with another pull on the front of his sweatshirt. "I said we'd meet him at the side entrance."

"You don't have to do this, D," I say quietly when he doesn't move from his spot on the sidewalk. "We can leave if ya want. We can go sledding in the park or something," I offer with a smile, taking a running kick at a nearby snow-pile.

He twists his fingers in his shirt and shakes his head. "N-no…no, I need to do this," he replies, biting his bottom lip. "It's just…could you…I mean, maybe it would be best if…"

"You want me to hide in the alley in case this is all some kind of trap," I finish for him, taking another swing at the snow-pile.

He squirms and offers a sheepish smile. "I really don't think it is, but…"

"Better safe than sorry," I say with a grin and a hop over an icy puddle at the mouth of the alley. "I'll stay right behind the dumpster. Hoot like an owl if the coast is clear."

He stares at me with slightly lowered eyelids and his mouth set in a straight line. "How about I just say your name," he counters in a monotone voice.

"Your loss," I reply with a shrug. "But whatever you do, make it quick. It's freezing out and I'm starving."

I duck behind the dumpster, clearing a space in the snow to hide from view. He stands in front of the door, muttering quietly to himself. I can't hear what he's saying, but I have a pretty good idea that he's talking himself into knocking on the door. His shoulders lift and fall with a huge sigh before he raises his fist and knocks three times. He takes a step back and instantly starts to pull on his sweatshirt again. No one answers after a few, long moments of silence and he glances over his shoulder towards where I'm hiding with a concerned grimace on his face. I'm about to stand up and suggest he try again when the door creaks open.

Donnie swivels around and takes another step back. I lean forward to get a better look. An older man stands under the floodlight above the door. He shifts and rubs his arms against the cold. He's smaller than I expected, with gray hair and a sweater that looks like it itches. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little disappointed.

"Donatello," he says, my brother's name followed by a disbelieving chuckle. "I really didn't think I'd ever see you again."

Donnie shifts on his feet again and his head bobs up and down. "Yes, um, right. I didn't want to bother you, I just…I felt like I should, thank you for helping me, in person…as it was," he stammers. "You didn't have to and I know it put you at risk and I wanted…I wanted to make sure you were all right. That you…that s-she didn't come after you."

He can't say her name. It's been weeks and he still can't say her name. It makes me feel sick inside to know that she still has any sway over him. My mouth drops into a frown and I scoot my foot forward in an attempt to gain better leverage on the snowy ground. I'm wearing boots and I'm not used to how much they make my feet move. My leg slides further than I anticipate, the toe of my boot crashing into the side of the dumpster with a loud clang. My eyes round out into circles and I hold my breath with the giant hope that maybe they didn't hear me.

"Who's there?!" Dr. Feinstein demands and I have to give him props for not sounding afraid.

I stand up straight and inch around the dumpster. I tug on the sleeves of my coat with a grimace. I'm sure Donnie had his whole speech all planned out and I had to go and ruin it.

"Sorry, D," I say with a sheepish smile. "My foot slipped."

He's got that look on his face. The 'seriously, Mikey, what is wrong with you,' look. I know it all too well, even if I haven't seen it that much lately. It's gone quickly this time too and his shoulders rise with another sigh. He motions at me with a quick wave and a smile that matches my own.

"Dr. Feinstein, I'd like you to meet my brother, Michelangelo," he says with his hand held out.

The doctor looks between the two of us with eyes like saucers behind his glasses. He closes his mouth into a grin and another laugh bubbles up from his chest. "Well, I'll be a son of a bitch," he chuckles. "There are two of you?"

Donnie ducks his head and rubs the back of his neck. "Um, four…actually."

Dr. Feinstein shakes his head and takes a step towards me, his hand held out expectantly. "That is just…that is fantastic, truly. It is very nice to meet you, Michelangelo," he says, gripping my hand tightly.

I can see why Donnie likes this guy. I shake his hand, holding on to it for a moment longer. "You helped my brother get out of that place?" I ask, searching his face for any sign of insincerity or lies.

He nods. "I did. It wasn't right what those people were doing. I didn't want any part of it."

It's nice to know that there are still good people in the world. I've always suspected that to be the case and I'll be sure to point it out to Raph when we get home. I wrap the older man in a hug. He leans back at first, surprised and then awkwardly pats my shell through my coat. It might not be the best hug, but it had to be done. He helped save Donnie. He gave me back my brother. I have to hug him.

"Thank you," I say quietly, only letting go when I hear Donnie clear his throat. I sniffle and let him free, wiping my sleeve under my nose. "Do you have kittens?" I ask a bit louder than I meant to.

"What?" Donnie murmurs and the look flashes across his face.

"What? He's a vet. You're a vet, right? Vets should have kittens," I reply with a shrug.

I had thought the question was an obvious one. Dr. Feinstein doesn't seem as thrown off by it as my brother. He shakes his head.

"I'm afraid my clinic specializes in reptiles," he says regretfully. "But I live right above and my cat Aoife always loves visitors."

Nice and he has a cat. Doc is all right in my book.

"Do you boys want to come inside? I'm freezing my toes off out here."

"I…we wouldn't want to impose," Donnie says.

"Impose? Don't be silly. Besides, I want to take a look at that crack on your plastron. It was looking pretty rough the last time I saw you. Is it still giving you trouble?" he replies, already turning to walk inside before either of us can answer.

I shrug at Donnie and follow the doctor inside, grateful to be out of the cold. The room is lined on one side with glass cages and heating lamps. All of the tanks are empty except for one, sleepy snake curled up on a flat rock. I flicker my tongue at her as we walk past. Dr. Feinstein turns on the lights and pats his hand on a metal exam table at the center of the room.

"Hop on up," he says, cleaning a few stray snowflakes from his glasses.

Donnie lingers just inside the door, his eyes fixed on the exam table. There's a slight tremble in his legs. It's so slight you probably wouldn't notice if you weren't used to seeing it. His mouthed is pressed in a thin line and he grips the front of his sweatshirt. Dr. Feinstein turns to him with a frown, his excitement fading in an instant.

"I don't know, Donnie," I say, going over to his side. "We should probably get going, huh? Sensei is expecting us."

I'm giving him an out. If he wants to leave all he has to do is nod. He swallows and licks his lips. I rest my hand on his arm and wait for him to decide. I'll back him either way. After another swallow he shakes his head and I know he's made up his mind to stay.

"N-no…I think we have some time," he says, clearing his throat.

The tremble is gone from his legs and he walks over to the examine table. He struggles to pull the sweatshirt off over his head and shivers when the air touches his skin. Dr. Feinstein hurries over to the wall and adjusts the thermostat.

"Sorry about the chill. The clinic is only open a couple days a week now. Shelly is the only one down here most of the time and she's got her own heater," he says, motioning towards the snake.

"S'ok," Donnie replies, sitting on the exam table and rubbing his arms to keep warm.

The injury in question really does look a million times better than the night we got him back. Sensei did the best he could, cleaning the wound and filling it with that awful smelling resin. The crack is now more a deep groove and it doesn't really seem to cause him any pain. Not that he would admit it if it did. Dr. Feinstein puts on a pair of rubber gloves and leans in close to get a better look.

"Did you do this yourself?" he asks, prodding along the edge of the indent.

"No, Sen…my father did it," Donnie replies quietly.

Dr. Feinstein starts to go into the more intricate details of shell repair and I start to tune him out. The science-talk is putting Donnie at ease and soon the two of them are prattling like old friends, sharing tips and tricks. I don't want to interrupt. It's good to see Donnie excited about something, even if that something is boring. I peer into Shelly the snake's tank, but she doesn't seem up to doing anything besides sleeping and I'm off on a circuit of the room to find something more interesting. I stand up on my tiptoes to inspect the diplomas that line the wall and when those all seem in order I start to snoop through the framed photographs that line the desk in the corner.

There's a photo of Dr. Feinstein in a loud Hawaiian shirt and funny hat kneeling next to a massive sea turtle. My eyes flicker to the person on the other side of the bored looking turtle. She's wearing a matching shirt, although her's is unbuttoned to reveal a bright-yellow tank top underneath with a grinning _Pikachu _on the front. Her black hair is a mass of curls only held at bay by a visor tilted slightly to the side. Even with the shadow cast by the brim her eyes shine bright; a sparkling brown that only pales in comparison to her smile.

I feel a strange flutter in my chest and find myself grinning down at the photo. I pick up the frame, intent on studying it further. They're on a beach and the bright sunshine warms her cinnamon-colored skin. I bet she smells good. The sudden thought makes me blink and look around quickly in case I said it out loud by mistake. Donnie and Dr. Feinstein are still prattling on about shells and I relax knowing my secret is still my own. I tap my fingers along the edge of the frame and take a deep breath, my curiosity winning out per usual.

"Who's this?" I ask, holding up the photo and the mystery girl in question.

"Hmm? Oh, my granddaughter, Tia," Dr. Feinstein replies, looking up from the giant book he and Donnie are leaning over. "Took that on our trip to the Gulf last summer. Isn't that sea turtle magnificent?" he asks, sounding wistful.

"Uh, yeah," I say with a tiny smirk. "Magnificent."


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: As promised a Leonardo one-shot for tonight's _Winter interlude _installment. I wanted to write something nice and light-hearted for him as my other Leo POV attempts have been pretty angst-filled. As I've mentioned before he gives me the most trouble out of the turtles, as I couldn't personally be any further from a Leo personality type if I tried, so I hope people like this one :0)**

* * *

Is there honor in a show-tune?

Leonardo

The winter has been long and cold and there are still weeks left to go before a warm-up is even a possibility. The setting of the sun only makes the temperature dip further and fat, slow moving snowflakes swirl along on the bitter wind. I don't care. It feels good to be out of the lair, to patrol. It feels right. I jump across the space between two buildings, the air stinging my eyes and making them water at the edge of my vision. The extra wrappings around my feet make the landing all the more difficult and I slide across the snow a few inches before gaining my balance.

I take in a deep breath, letting it out like a mist across the air. The cold burns down into my lungs and makes me feel more alive than I have in weeks. Soon all of my brothers will be well enough to join me on nightly patrols. We'll have to take things slower than we once did, but with the proper training we'll be back to normal in no time. I know it. Everything will be as it should be. I turn to signal the all clear, shuffling backwards in surprise as a snowball hits me in the face.

"Aw yeah! Even a snow storm can't stop, Dr. Prankenstein!" Mikey shouts, jumping across the divide and landing in a heap beside me.

I scowl and wipe the snow from my face. "Knock it off, Mikey!" I hiss, swatting at him as he rolls around in the snow like a dog and not a well-behaved dog. "We're supposed to be patrolling."

"Uh, come on, Leo," he whines, flapping his arms and legs to make an ill-shaped angel in the snow. "We already did a loop; all clear. It's snowing too much for bad guys."

"You don't know that," I snap, curling my hand into a fist at my side. "We need to do at least one more sweep before…"

"Ugh! We're not going to find anything," Mikey interrupts with a moan. "There's no one out here. It's too cold."

I feel anger start to warm my neck beneath the coat I am forced to wear against the cold. I take in a slow breath through my nose to keep from yelling at him. Losing my temper won't help. Yelling at Mikey isn't the way to get him to obey an order. You have to talk him down, make him understand that you're right and he's wrong. That can be a tall order when he refuses to listen.

"Maybe you wouldn't be so cold if you stopped rolling around in the snow," I grumble, narrowly avoiding another snowball thrown my way. "I'm serious, Mikey. Master Splinter wants us to patrol, so that's what we're going to do. We've shirked our responsibilities for too long as it is."

He blinks up at me from his seat in the snow, his nose crinkled and his head tilted to one side in contemplation. He slowly lifts his hand and points his fluffy mitten in my direction.

"Your eye is twitching," he says, moving his jaw from one side to the other. "You mad or something?"

I'm starting to reconsider my thoughts on not yelling at Mikey. He lowers his hand and pulls it in close to his chest, offering a sheepish smile in response to my glare. He climbs to his feet, lifting his hand to rest on my shoulder before thinking better of it.

"We've been at this for hours, Leo," he says with all the caution of speaking to a wild animal. "We did what Master Splinter said…so let's go have some fun…"

"Training is fun," I reply, interrupting him this time. I cross my arms when his face falls, knowing he doesn't reciprocate the sentiment. "All right, what's your great plan, then?" I say, instantly regretting it when he gets that devious glint in his eyes.

"Follow me," he says, rubbing his hands together before taking off across the rooftop.

"Mikey!" I call after him, but it's too late, he's already two buildings ahead of me.

I lower my head and run to catch up. Mikey is darting and leaping from one building to the next, letting out the occasional whoop and disregarding any of the lessons on stealth Master Splinter taught him. By the tenth block and the fifth uninhibited shout my temper is starting to burn low beneath my collar once more. He finally stops running, resting a hand on the back of marquee to catch his breath. I drop down beside him and take hold of his shoulder. The last of my patience evaporated two blocks ago.

"You had your fun, now we're going home," I insist.

He squiggles away from me, hopping on one foot and then the next with a dopey grin on his face. "No, way. Running wasn't the fun part," he says with a laugh, oblivious to my anger. "This way and be quiet, ninjas are quiet," he adds in a voice that I have a sneaking suspicion is supposed to sound like me.

My shoulders bristle in anger and I have no choice but to follow him as he darts across the rooftop to a fire door at the center of the building. The door shuts behind us, the sudden shift in temperature making my skin burn and tingle. I pry off the scarf from around my throat and move silently down the stairwell, keeping close to my brother. Mikey is practically bouncing with excitement. He climbs up onto the railing and pulls open the grate over the air vent; hoisting himself inside.

We crawl through the vent in silence. Mikey never second guesses which direction to choose next. I'm sure he's been sneaking around this building on his own. We'll talk about that once we're someplace safe. He waves over his shoulder and drops down through a grate and out of sight. We're high in the rafters of a cavernous room, surrounded by ropes and narrow walkways. Mikey is already leaning against a metal railing, staring down at the scene below with a giant grin plastered on his face. I'm about to chastise him and end this whole thing but an echoing blare of music stops me short.

I blink and lean over the railing for a better look. The stage below is covered in beautifully rendered sets and actors moving and dancing across the surface in bright, intricate costumes. The orchestra plays from the pit in front of the stage and I find myself drawn to the music. We should leave. This isn't safe, someone could see us. It is a silly reason to risk exposure just to take in a play.

The music dies down to a light trill and a young woman dressed in blue steps forward on the stage, bathed in a spotlight. Her voice is strong and yet sweet all at once and the melancholy lyrics cling to each note with a heavy hand. I drop down to sit beside Mikey, letting my feet dangle over the edge as I lean forward and rest my chin on the middle railing. I'm transfixed. The sound of her voice and the thrum of the orchestra reverberate through my chest and I feel a quiet sense of loss when the song reaches its sad conclusion. The audience erupts into applause and I have to grip the railing to stop the urge to join in.

"We can leave if ya want," Mikey whispers, never taking his eyes off the stage as the lights dim and scenery starts to shift for the next scene.

I swallow. We should go. We never should have come here in the first place. It isn't safe. We could get caught. The music starts up again and I take in a slow breath. I shake my head and answer quietly.

"No, I…I think it would be all right to stay. At least for a little bit."

I can see him smirk out of the corner of my eye and I choose to ignore it. After all the music is starting up again and if I'm lucky she'll sing once more.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: ****The next one-shot in the _Winter Interlude _series. Back to a Donatello POV. This takes place right after the April chapter and features more of Irma's reaction to finding out about Donnie and his brothers. She could have taken it better :0)**

* * *

Aliens, Turtles, and Mutants Oh My

Donatello

I sit on the far end of the couch and drum my fingers on the top of my thighs. April walks into the room with a mug of tea. She hands the mug to Irma, practically prying apart her fingers to wrap around the cup. She is watching me out of the corner of her eyes, flickering around the edge of her glasses before darting back to the tea. I shift awkwardly in my seat and cringe when she winces at the movement. The scared look on her face makes me feel sick inside. I sigh and stare down at my hands, tracing the scar along my wrist.

"Irma?" April says gently. "Why don't you take a sip of the tea?"

She rests her hand on her friend's shoulder and offers a reassuring smile.

"I…I'm not thirsty," she murmurs, leaning forward to set the mug on the coffee table.

April sighs and sits down between us on the couch. This is not going well and she seems at a loss for words. At least Irma has stopped screaming, but the stares are almost as bad. I've seen that look before. I saw it, bold and unblinking from the other side of a glass tank. I want to go home. I press down on my wrist until the skin surrounding the scar tissue turns white. April reaches over and takes my hand.

"Don't," she whispers with a frown. "It's all right."

Irma is watching us like a hawk and her eyes open wider, fixed to where April's hand grasps mine. I pull away and instinctively grip the front of my sweatshirt where it covers the strap over my chest. April bristles and I recognize the start of anger in her eyes. She reaches out and grabs my hand, gripping it tightly to her chest. She sets her mouth in a determined line and sits up straight.

"So…you're Donnie?" Irma asks in a tiny voice, her eyes locked on our hands.

"Yes," I reply, forcing the word out around the lump that is settled in my throat.

She nods repeatedly like one of those drinking birds you put on a desk. "April's Donnie?"

I blink and feel a blush start to crawl up my neck. "Oh, um, I…" I stammer, unsure of how to answer that.

"Yes," April answers for me, moving to intertwine our fingers. "He's my Donnie."

The blush burns into a flush that races throughout my entire body and I'm sure the skin on my face is darkened considerably by it.

_She said you're her's._

I grin, despite the perhaps inappropriate timing and lower my head in an attempt to hide it. Irma blinks and bites her bottom lip. I can see the struggle to understand the situation darting across her eyes. She reaches for a throw pillow and holds it close to her body.

"So…I'd take it you're not in college and the two of you didn't meet at a restaurant," she says, casting a weary glance in my direction. "I mean, unless this is a new development," she adds with a vague wave of her hand at me and my general appearance.

"Uh, no…not new," I reply, squirming under the increasing intensity of her stare.

"Right, but have you…I mean, did someone turn you into this? You were a person and now you're…not?"

Any of the good feelings from April's proclamation slip away and I feel that all too familiar tighten of anxiety in my chest. I reach up with my free hand and rub the back of my neck.

"No, we started as turtles…"

"We?" she interrupts with a squeak of a question. "There are more of you?"

_Nice going, Genius. Leo is going to kill you._

"Donnie has three brothers," April explains and I'm grateful for the assist. Irma does not look put at ease with this new information so April hurries on. "They're all wonderful and you don't have to be afraid. I know this is a lot to take in, Irma and I'm sorry I haven't been entirely truthful with you, but you need to understand how important it is to keep this a secret. I need to know that you won't tell anyone."

Irma holds the pillow tight and her forehead crinkles in thought. "How did you meet?" she asks, ignoring April's plea.

"They saved me from the…the aliens that kidnapped my Dad," April replies quietly. "Donnie saved me," she lifts my hand to her face and lightly kisses the back of my wrist. "That's what they do, Irma. They help people."

She swallows and stares straight ahead. She doesn't say anything for a few, horribly long seconds and I can feel each one drag by like mini lifetimes. She sets the pillow aside, smoothing out the red fabric before rising to her feet. I sit back when she moves to stand in front of me. She forces my gaze and my nerves start to squirm in my stomach.

"I don't have many friends," she says, her voice steady and growing more so with each word. "April means a lot to me," she leans forward, adjusting her glasses and narrowing her eyes at me behind the lenses. "If you ever hurt her, I will personally hunt you down and beat you to death with a baseball bat, understood?"

"Understood," I say with a quick nod, adding. "I would never hurt her. Not ever."

She straightens up with a nod and crosses her arms over her chest. "Good, I'm glad we're on the same page," she adjusts her glasses once more. "I might not understand this, but I'll keep your secret, not that anyone would believe me if I told."

April lets go of my hand and stands to wrap Irma in a hug. She quietly murmurs her thanks and apologizes again for having lied to her. I look away. It's a private moment between them and I feel like I'm intruding just by being in the same room. I pull idly on the wrappings around my hand and try not to eavesdrop on their quiet conversation. April pulls back with a sniffle that is quickly followed by a laugh. I allow some of my tension to lessen at the sound of it. It can't be all bad if April is laughing.

"How about we order dinner, we have a lot of catching up to do," April says with another quick hug.

Irma nods and takes a seat on the couch while April heads into the kitchen to order take out. I consider following her, but can't think of a way to make it look like I'm not fleeing the scene. Irma is watching me again and I shift awkwardly, making the couch groan and squeak under my weight. I sigh and turn to meet her stare.

"What do you want to know?" I ask, not sounding too excited about the prospect of answering her questions.

Her mouth lowers into a thoughtful line. "You don't seriously like the _Cowboys_ do you?"

"Uh, what?" I mumble with a confused blink.

"Your shirt," she says with a flippant wave at my blue sweatshirt and the silver star stamped across the chest.

"Oh, um, no. It's just hard to find something to fit. Ya know, over my shell," I reply, tugging on the garment.

"All right, good," she says, crossing her legs. "I think I can look past the whole turtle thing, but if you were some meathead jock I might have lost some respect," she takes her glasses off and cleans them on the edge of her shirt, adding with a mutter. "That'd be as bad as Casey."

I laugh and her head snaps in my direction, cutting off the sound before it can properly start.

"You know Casey?" she demands.

My gaping silence is nothing short of incriminating.

"Oh my God!" she cries, throwing her hands in the air and pointing at April in accusation when she walks back into the room, her hands full of take-out menus. "Casey knows?! Am I the only one you kept in the dark?!"

"What? No, of course not. Casey found out on his own. I didn't tell him," I replies, instantly on the defensive.

"Uh huh, sure I bet…" Irma snorts and starts to reply, but her face falls as if she just realized something awful. "Did…did you say your Dad was kidnapped by aliens?"

I cover my face and shake my head. We're in for a long night.

"I'll go make some coffee," I offer, leaving April to talk down Irma's impending freak-out.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's note: ****I am on a strong writing kick today, so I have another update for you this evening. It's a Mikey POV with just perhaps the introduction of a certain young lady ;0) This takes place a week or so after Donnie and Mikey visit Dr. Feinstein for the first was a question on the pronunciation of the cat's name Aoife is pronounce Ee-fa. It's Irish.  
**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

I Will See Her Smile

Michelangelo

"Here, kitty, kitty," I coo, crawling along the back of the couch. "It's all right, I'm not gonna hurt ya," I promise, holding out my hand for the little gray fluff-ball to sniff.

She takes a cautious step forward before craning out her neck with her nostrils moving along with her breath. I must pass her inspection because she saunters forward and starts to head-butt my hand. I grin and scratch her behind the ears before petting her down the spine. A deep, rumbling purr reverberates through her body and I can't help but grin when she allows me to pick her up. She's warm and cuddly and nuzzles underneath my chin. I don't know how long Donnie is going to be working on whatever project he and the Doc are grinning over so I was more than happy to take up the offer to go find the cat for a proper meeting.

Dr. Feinstein's apartment is exactly how I would have pictured it. It's obvious he has called this place home for decades and every surface tells the story of it. The furniture is worn, but well taken care of and the walls are covered to over-flowing with photographs of family and friends. Holding Aoife close to my chest I walk slowly down the nearest wall, taking my time to inspect each new photo. I linger a little while longer than I should on the ones that hold the image of a dark-haired girl with a cheeky smile.

Tia. That's what Doc said her name is. She's his granddaughter. That's all I know. That's barely anything, but it hasn't stopped me from lying awake at night and filling in the blanks with my imagination. She's in most of the photos and I have yet to come across one where she isn't smiling. I stop in front of one that must have been taken on Halloween. She's dressed in a fluffy pink dress with a tiara on her head, I do love a tiara. A grin spreads across my face when I realize she's dressed as Princess Peach. My heart jumps in my chest at the sound of a key sliding into the front door's lock. I quickly set the cat down and dive behind the couch just as the door swings open.

"Poppy!" she calls out in a sing-song voice. "I got out of work early! You home?"

The door closes and there's a thud as she drops her purse onto the ground and starts to pry off her winter boots. I want to look over the back of the couch. I have to grip the bottom of the large piece of furniture to keep from doing so. She's here. She's right here and all I'd have to do is stand up and we could meet. Her grandpa isn't afraid of us, maybe she wouldn't be either. Who knows, maybe the doc already told her about us. I mean, we told him not to tell anyone, but she's his family. Rules don't always apply when it comes to family.

I drum my fingers on the top of my knees and take in a deep breath. I'm going to do it. I'm going to stand up. Leo won't be happy, but Leo isn't here. She's here and I'm here and I'm pretty sure we could be friends. No one who smiles like that can be a bad person. I take in another breath and stand, my hands held out to show that I don't mean any harm. I blink, surprised when nothing but a closed door and a pile of her winter clothes greets me. I turn around, looking throughout the room dumfounded. I was so caught up in my own thoughts I didn't even hear her leave the room. This must be what it's like for Donnie all the time.

"Poppy, is that you? I brought you some left over…"

I don't have time to hide. She's right behind me, standing at the end of the hallway holding a brown paper bag out in front of her. Her hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail with more than few stray curls falling down to frame her face. She's wearing a pink and white striped shirt with a cupcake-shaped name tag affixed just below her left shoulder. She smells like candy. I feel a twinge of guilt when her eyes slowly turn into frightened circles. I should say something. I should make sure she knows I won't hurt her.

"Oh, uh, hey, didn't mean to startle you. I was just…"

Her high-pitched scream drowns out the rest of my words and I wince at the sound, resisting the urge to cover my ears. She drops the bag and runs down the hallway as if her life depends on it. A door slams and I'm sure she has barricaded herself in her room. I guess it's safe to say that her grandpa didn't tell her about us. I sigh and slowly tiptoe down the hallway. I don't want to scare her anymore, but I can't just leave her without an explanation. I press my ear against the cold surface of the door and strain to hear what's going on inside. I caution a small knock and cringe when she yelps in fear.

"Tia?" I call out. "I, umm, I'm sorry I scared you. I didn't mean to. I won't hurt you, I promise."

"How do you know my name?" she demands.

"Well, your grandpa…"

"Did you hurt Poppy!" she cries.

"What? No, no of course not. He's my friend," I say, resting my hand on the door. "He's downstairs. You could go down there right now and ask him. I swear."

She doesn't respond straight away and I wonder if she heard me. I consider knocking again. That might scare her and I've done enough of that already so I take a step back and stare at her door with a pout. This is not how I wanted this to go. You don't make friends by scaring people. Unless you're Raph and Casey I suppose. I can hear her shuffling around and wonder if I should go get Dr. Feinstein to smooth the whole thing over.

"Are you still out there?" she calls, her sudden voice making me jump.

"Yeah," I reply instantly. "It's all right though. I won't hurt you."

There's more shuffling and my heart lightens when the doorknob clicks lightly. "All right, I'm coming out. You stay right where you are. You got it?"

I nod and then remember she can't see me so I add. "Yup, got it. I won't move a muscle."

The door creaks open an inch at a time and a pair of brown eyes peer out with suspicion. I'm true to my word and stand perfectly still a few feet removed from the threshold. She straightens up and opens the door wide enough to slip through. I'm grinning enough to make my face hurt and I have to make a grand effort not to bounce on the balls of my feet in excitement. Her hand lifts and I tilt my head in confusion at the small, black contraption held in her palm.

"What's that?" I ask, just as she presses the button and sends a spray of liquid across my eyes.

"Aaaahhh!"

I scream, I can't help it. The burn is so great my eyes instantly snap shut. I fall to the ground and try to wipe it from my face. It only makes the pain worse and soon my nose is running and my throat seems to close. She darts around me and I think I hear the thud of her running down the stairs screaming for her grandpa. I crawl along the ground, trying desperately to find the bathroom. I have to wash this off my face. I crash into the wall with a whimper and scoot forward until I find a doorway.

"Mikey?!" Donnie calls out followed by a heaving cough. "Oh, man," he murmurs and I flinch when he rests a hand on my shoulder. "Don't…don't touch your face, it'll only make it worse," he says around another cough before helping me to my feet.

"B-but…hurts," I whimper, gripping the edge of the bathtub as he helps me sit down.

"I know, but its oil based, you'll just rub it in more," he insists, lifting his hand. "I'm going to get some dish soap, just sit still."

I cough and sputter and grip the tub tighter to keep from clawing at my eyes like I want to. Donnie returns quickly and helps me wash the burning spray from my face and eyes. I dunk my face into the bowl of soap and water and after what seems like forever the burn and pain lessens enough for me to attempt opening my eyes. He wipes the soapy water and snot from my face with a damp towel and when I sniff it sends another wave of burning up through my sinuses.

"Any better?" he asks, his worried face coming into focus before me.

I nod. "A…a little," I reply with a sniffle and another whimper.

"Michelangelo, I am so sorry," Dr. Feinstein says from his place just inside the doorway. "I didn't think Tia would be home so soon. I should have warned her I had…company."

"S'all right," I reply with a shaky smile. "I didn't mean to…to scare her."

"I'm going to change out the water," Donnie says, letting his hand linger on my shoulder. "Press the cloth to your eyes if it still hurts."

I nod and look up as he inches around Dr. Feinstein towards the kitchen. I squint when I catch sight of a blurry pink and white shirt lingering just beyond the doctor in the hallway. I smile and hope that she can see it from her place half-hidden behind her grandfather. I don't want to scare her any more than I already have. I cough around another tightening of my throat and try to smile.

"I…I'm sorry I scared you, Tia," I say, dabbing the cloth along my left eye that refuses to stop running.

She leans to her left to get a better view before taking a tentative step forward into the bathroom. "You didn't," she replies, shooting her grandpa a look when he snickers. "I mean, maybe you did… a little bit," she admits with just a fraction of the smile I really want to see. "I'm sorry I pepper-sprayed you," she adds, the smile falling completely. "Does it hurt?"

"No," I say with my own lie. "Well, maybe a little bit."

She pushes out an almost laugh through her nose and a smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. I decide that making her smile is going to be my new goal in life.

"I'm Mikey, by the way," I introduce myself and hold out my hand with a hopeful smile on my face.

She looks down at my hand, the tiny frown on her face lifting into a determined straight line. "Hey, Mikey," she says, closing her hand around mine with a firm shake.

It isn't really holding hands, but it is close enough that I can imagine quite clearly what the real thing would feel like. Her hand slips from mine and even through the sting and narrowing of my sinuses I catch a whiff of something sweet clinging to her skin. It's like cotton candy or cakes baking. No one who smells like that can be a bad person. I think we're going to be friends. At least we will if I have any say in the matter.


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's notes: A lot of people have been asking when Kirby was going to find out about April and Donnie...well, here ya go! I of course couldn't let this go without throwing in some angst, but I think the warm and fluffy make up for it. I've always been of the mindset that Kirby O'Neil is a better father than the 2012 show paints him as. The Kirby in my verse did go through the Kirby-bat extravaganza, but he is far more mentally stable and still working at his own practice. **

* * *

Unintentional Sleepover

I lean back on the counter and hum quietly while the water in the kettle starts to boil. The quiet, mundane tea making is all the break I can afford from my studies. Midterms are on Monday and I am going to use every minute of this weekend to prepare for them. Luckily my favorite study partner is here to help. I feel a little smile tug at the corner of my mouth at the mere thought of Donnie leaning over my calculous book while attempting to explain the equations to me in a way that I can actually understand. His nose will crinkle and if I'm lucky his tongue will peek out of the corner of his mouth in concentration. A blush warms my cheeks at how silly I'm being, but that doesn't stop my smile from staying put.

I turn off the stove and pour the boiling water into the mugs, taking in a deep breath of the steam as the tea steeps. I grip the handles and carry the mugs towards my room. My stocking feet shuffle along the soft carpet as I walk. It's cold out and even after I cranked up the thermostat for Donnie's sake a persistent chill clings to the air. I can hear the wind howl and shake the windows and I'm grateful to be inside with a nice warm cup of tea. I nudge open my bedroom door with my foot.

"I had some Christmas tea left over, I think you'll…"

I trail off when I realize Donnie is not where I left him. The desk chair is empty, the stack of textbooks and papers left unattended. A large, turtle-shaped lump huddles under the comforter on my bed, the edge of the blankets tucked up under his feet. I smirk and set the mugs down on the desk before tip-toeing over to the bed. I kneel down and pry the blanket up a couple inches to peer inside the cocoon.

"I brought you some tea. It'll help warm you up," I whisper.

His nose twitches and a quiet whistle passes through the gap in his teeth as he continues to sleep. It might just be the cutest thing I have ever seen and I resist the urge to squeal and wake him with a kiss. He never gets enough rest and I'm not about to keep him from it. I slowly drop the blanket back down and click off the light on my nightstand. I can study on my own. I sit at my desk and dive back into my work.

After a couple, uninterrupted hours spent pouring over my physics homework I sit back and rub my eyes, surprised at how late it is. I crack my neck and push away from the desk. Donnie hasn't moved an inch and I can still hear him snoring softly from under the covers. My chest tightens a little at the thought of having to wake him, but I know Master Splinter won't be pleased if he isn't home soon. I'm grateful his family has started to let him leave the lair at all and I don't want to do anything to jeopardize that, even if I do feel guilty about waking him. I sit down on the bed with a sigh and rest my hand where I think his shoulder is.

"Donnie…it's after two, you should probably get going before Raph comes looking for you," I say, giving him a shake.

He grumbles incoherently and pulls the blankets tighter around himself. I want to let him sleep. Actually I want to slip beneath the covers with him. I try to stifle a yawn with little success and pull back the blankets to reveal his face. He whimpers and grasps for the blankets, a put settling on his face. His eyes blink open and he squints up at me with another whimper. I lean forward with a smile and push back his mask to kiss the soft skin between his eyes.

"I'm sorry, but it's late," I murmur with another kiss. "Time to get up."

His pout shifts into a tiny smirk and I know I have fallen into a trap. His arm shoots out from under the covers and snags me around the waist. I squeak and pretend to put up a fight as he pulls me close against his plastron. The blankets drop over us and I shiver when his lips ghost across the back of my neck.

"I'm serious," I say around a quiet laugh when he nuzzles against my hair. "It's almost 2:30."

"Just a few minutes more," he murmurs, already sounding half-asleep.

I try to roll over but his strong arms keep me held in place. "Don't fall asleep again," I warn, fighting off another yawn.

"Only…resting my eyes," he insists.

I'm too tired to argue. I'll let him sleep a little while longer, maybe for an hour or so, but not a minute longer. My eyes drift closed and I snuggle against him, kissing the smooth skin of his arm that is wrapped around me. His breathing evens out and the breathy sound of it lulls me off to sleep. I'll only rest my eyes. Just for a few minutes. It's so cold outside and so warm in my bed.

"April?! April, I have bagels."

The sound of the front door shutting and a happy cry of my name stirs me from my sleep. Bagels do sound good. Wait. What time is it? Why is it light out? That must mean...

"April?"

I sit up like a shot just as my bedroom door creaks open. Donnie's arm is still wrapped around me and I struggle to untangle myself from his grasp. My father stands in the doorway, a white, paper-bag grasped in his hands. I stare wide-eyed, unable to speak. He takes in a sharp breath, but otherwise gives no indication that he isn't a statue. His gaze meets mine for a painfully long moment of silence before his eyes narrow at the corners.

"Living room, now," he says evenly. "Both of you."

He turns and walks down the hallway, leaving the door ajar. I let out a slow breath, glancing down to find Donnie staring up at me with nothing short of terror in his eyes. I find his discarded mask buried under the pillow and smooth out the material between my hands. He sits up, a tiny tremble moving through his shoulders down to his hands. He moves to press against the fresh scar along his wrist and I reach forward to stop him.

"Don't," I say, keeping my voice firm. "It is all right, everything is going to be all right."

He frowns and shame settles on his features. "I can't…he's mad," he whispers, his eyes flitting towards the doorway.

"It's just my Dad," I reply, reaching up to help him tie his mask in place. "Nothing to worry about."

He sighs. "I do…his opinion matters to me," he says, avoiding my eyes. "He's your family, April."

I take hold of his face between my hands, lifting his chin to force his gaze. "Yes, but he's not my only family," I say, kissing him. "He'll understand. He'll see how important you are to me."

He doesn't look convinced, but we've made my Dad wait long enough. He hangs his head like a kicked puppy as we walk to the living room, actively avoiding holding my hand. I try not to let it anger me. He's anxious enough as it is without me snapping at him. My father is pacing in front of the coffee table, his mouth set in a hard line. He looks up as we enter the room and waves at the couch.

"Sit," he instructs.

He waits until we sit before taking in a slow breath. I can tell he's angry. He hides it well, but I've known him my entire life and all the signs are there. He's pacing, refusing to sit and the tips of his fingers curl inward every few seconds. He has never been the type of father who yells or hits or makes a grand show of his anger. No, my father simmers and takes steady breaths while cultivating the best possible way to express his disappointment. He's a master of the guilt trip. I bristle in my seat and straighten my back, preparing myself for the worst.

"How long has this been going on?" he asks, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"A couple months," I reply with a shrug.

I lean back and cross my arms over my chest in challenge. My Dad isn't interested in my defiance. He turns his stare on Donnie who is already squirming.

"Does your father know you are here?"

"N-no, well, yes, I mean, he knows I came over here tonight, last night, but I…I didn't mean to fall asleep," he stammers, looking up with more than a hint of pleading in his voice. "I'm sorry, Mr. O'Neil. I really didn't mean to spend the night, I just…I was tired and fell asleep."

Dad nods. "And it won't happen again," he says quietly, adding with a finite tone that sends ripples of anger running up my spine. "You'll only come over when I'm home and April, the door will stay open."

Anger burns red hot and ugly across my face. "What? You can't…don't be ridiculous. I'm eighteen years old…"

"And still in high school and still living under my roof," he snaps, coming as close to raising his voice as my Dad ever gets. "You don't have to agree with my rules, but I do expect you to follow them. Do you really think I'm asking too much that my teenage daughter not have boys sleep over in her bed?"

"I…no, that's not the point," I say with a huff, my face burning now from embarrassment. He's got me in his guilt trap, it's a low blow, playing the respect card when he knows Donnie will instinctively agree with him. "You think I'm too stupid to make good decisions on my own," I counter.

He sighs and lets his mouth fall into a frown. "Do not try and twist my words, April," he says in his most disappointed voice. "This has nothing to do with your intelligence…and if you were so confident in your decision making why did you see to keep all of this a secret from me?"

"You…you didn't tell him?" Donnie asks quietly and the hurt in his voice makes my heart fall.

"When exactly was I supposed to tell you, Dad?" I ask with a hard clip to each word. "In the five whole minutes I've seen you in the past few weeks? You've been so busy setting up your new practice you're never home. Was I supposed to call you at work and have a heart to heart about my new boyfriend?"

Two can play at the guilt trip game. I've learned from the master and I will not go down without a fight. His left eye twitches at the corner and I know I've gotten to him. He sighs and paces the length of the table once more.

"I'm sorry I haven't been home much lately. I know it's hard on you, but I'm home now and I know now," he says, stopping his pacing to look down at us. "And I'm not going to change my mind on this, April."

I pout and flop back against the couch, defeated. I glance over at Donnie who looks as though he would gladly take death over another minute of this conversation. My Dad chooses that moment to make it worse.

"What is Master Splinter's phone number?"

Donnie slowly raises his head and blinks at my father in disbelief. "Wh-what? Why?"

"I'd like to speak to him," Dad replies evenly.

The tremble is back in Donnie's shoulders and I reach out to take hold of his hand before he can even think about pressing on his scar. "Y-you…you don't need to do that," he mumbles. "He knows, he…I didn't mean to fall asleep, it was an accident. It won't happen again, I promise. You don't…you don't need to call Sensei."

He's starting to panic. It's always a possibility, but the frequency of it and the severity has increased tenfold since we rescued him from that horrible place. I move to take hold of his other hand as well and lean forward so our foreheads touch. I don't care that my father is watching. I can't let Donnie suffer.

"Shh, it's all right," I whisper, tightening my grip. "Everything is going to be all right. Breathe in through your nose and out your mouth. It's all right."

I can feel his pulse slow beneath my fingertips after a few, slow breathes and I know he's avoided the worst of it. He swallows and stares down at our hands, guilt and shame burning a dark blush across his face. I smile and give his hands a reassuring squeeze. Dad kneels down beside me and rests a hand on Donnie's shoulder, concern bright and obvious in his eyes.

"Have you been having these attacks a lot lately?" he asks quietly.

Donnie swallows and only offers a small nod in reply. I know it's a struggle for him to admit to it, even when the evidence is so glaring. Dad tightens his grip on Donnie's shoulder and nods.

"It's a lot more common than you think," he says quietly. "I treat people for it every day. It is nothing to be ashamed of."

He must recognize the shame and guilt on Donnie's face and instinctively maneuvers around it. I silently thank him with a tiny smile and barely catch sight of the knowing nod he offers back. He might be the master of guilt trips and the enforcer of ridiculous rules, but my Dad is also kind and I hope I have learned that from him as well. He drapes the blanket from the back of the couch around Donnie's shoulders and sits beside him.

"I could help you work through it if you'd like. I can't guarantee that all of my suggestions will work, but it's worth a try," Dad offers with a warm smile.

"I…I'll think about it," Donnie murmurs. "Thank you."

Dad nods and stands up from the couch. "I'll get breakfast ready and then you can head home," he says, adding. "And I would still like to speak to your father."

Donnie lets out a little whimper. I smile and lean over to kiss him, letting my lips linger against his. "Everything is going to be all right," I whisper.

He almost smiles and nuzzles against my cheek. "I know," he replies with a sigh. "But Master Splinter is going to make me do so much extra training."

I laugh despite myself and kiss him once more before pulling him towards the kitchen and breakfast.


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Notes: The next installment in _Winter Interlude. _As promised, it is a Leo POV and Karai does indeed make an appearance. In the Click-verse I have decided that she is still with the Foot at this point and does not know about her true parentage. This One-shot takes place directly after the Mikey chapter, hence his pepper-sprayed eyes and prattling about a certain young lady. I hope people like this, cause seriously, Leo/Karai, while I enjoy reading it, has given me nothing but grief when I try to write it. I'm actually pretty pleased with how this came out though. There is a little steamy part towards the end, but nothing beyond a PG13 rating.**

* * *

Snowfall on Rooftops

"And, she works at that café with all the pink in the window, but she's going to school to be a teacher and she…"

I grind my teeth as Mikey continues to prattle on about Dr. Feinstein's granddaughter. His eyes are red and puffy, watering down his face every time he blinks. The girl in question is the cause of it, but he doesn't seem to mind. All he cares about is her major in college and how she loves to cook and every other inane tidbit he managed to learn tonight. Forget that this girl could be, right now, telling all of her friends about the two giant talking turtles she saw. Oh, no, none of that matters because she loves to play _Zelda._

"She never should have seen you in the first place," I snap, cutting him off before he can tell me her shoe size.

He blinks, looking genuinely surprised by my tone.

"I…are you mad?" he asks with another slow blink.

"You risked exposing our secret, Mikey," I say. "Who knows if we can trust this girl and here you are chatting her up about video games."

"She's Dr. Feinstein's granddaughter, of course we can trust her," Donnie says, peaking over the top of his book and sounding as though I personally insulted him.

I bristle and square my shoulders, ready for a fight. I should have known he would jump to her defense. "And you're spending far too much time over there. Your training is what's important. We need to be a team again. We can't do that if all of you are running off and…"

"You don't know what you're talking about, Leo," Donnie interrupts me and there's an edge to his voice that makes me fall silent.

He closes his book with a loud snap and pushes to his feet. His right hand is shaking and he clutches it to his chest before the tremble can go any further. Mikey rocks back on his heels, all coiled energy, ready to spring forward at the slightest hint that things might go wrong. Donnie's eyes are wide and his gaze seems to stare right through me to beyond where any of us can see. I see my failure in that gaze, sharp and bitter and undeniable. I'm supposed to be their leader. I'm supposed to keep us together, keep us safe. How can I do that when I've lost their respect?

"Donnie, it's important that…"

"He helped me," he interrupts me again; the words very near to a shout. He takes in a breath that wavers, closing his eyes around the exhale. "In that…in that place, he helped me. I wouldn't have…I might not have made it if," he pauses to take another breath. "He wants to teach me medicine, Leo. I try my best when you guys get hurt, but…but a lot of that is from books or the internet. I have an opportunity to actually learn, from an expert," he says, his eyes opening to find mine with a hint of pleading behind the stare. "That is important. You might not understand, you might not agree, but it is important to me. It's important to all of us."

I don't know what to say. He never speaks about what happened in that place, not in specifics anyways. I know he dreams about. Late at night when I hear his bedroom door open and the quiet pad of his feet across the floor. It's Mikey who offers him comfort. It's always Mikey. He trusts him. I shouldn't let my thoughts turn bitter. I shouldn't make this about me. It isn't about me. If Mikey can help him through this, then he should. I shouldn't let it bother me. But I do, and it does. It stands as yet another testament to my failure, to how bad things have gotten between us that my brother doesn't see me as a comfort.

"I didn't say it wasn't important," I say with a slow, cautious air. "But training is important too. We all need to strike a better balance."

The fight has left his eyes and his shoulders slump. I would prefer arguing and passion to this hollow, defeated thing masquerading as my brother. He shakes his head and grasps the strap across his chest. Mikey is on his feet, at the ready.

"I don't…I don't want to fight," Donnie murmurs and he sounds miles away, far beyond my reach.

"Come on, D. It's all right, Leo was just…"

"I'll be in my lab," Donnie mutters, this time interrupting Michelangelo.

He hangs his head and shuffles off towards the lab. He closes the door behind him and the crash of the metal is like a slap to the face, shaking me from my thoughts. I set my mouth in a determined line and take a step forward. I won't let him lock himself away. I won't let him shut me out. I'm the leader. I need to deal with this. I look down surprised to find Mikey gripping my arm tightly. I try to shake him free with little success.

"Leo…just…just let him be for a little while," he says with a pitiful sniffle and wipe of his painful-looking eyes. "He'll talk when he's ready."

He's right. Of course he's right. That doesn't mean I can't feel my bitterness start to rise in my throat at his words. I pull free from his grip, trying to ignore the hurt downturn of his mouth. I grab my coat from the back of the couch and take the stairs to at a time towards the turn-style.

"Leo, where are you going?" he calls after me. "Come on, bro. It'll be all right. Don is just having a bad night. He'll train with us tomorrow, you'll see."

I pause, my fingers fumbling with the zipper in my frustration. I let the coat hang open and curl my hands into fists at my sides.

"I know, Mikey," I reply, my words harsher than I intended. "I'm going to patrol."

"I'll go with you," he offers immediately.

I hold up my hand to stop him. "No, I…I need to be alone for a bit; clear my head."

"You sure? I don't mind going," he insists, already grabbing his coat.

"No, you stay here. Rest your eyes," I say, turning to give him a smile. "Watch over Donnie for me. I'll be back soon. I promise."

The smile settles him as I knew it would and he nods in reply. "Right, yeah, of course. I can do that, no problem."

I leave him to it, vaulting over the turn-style and starting down the tunnel at a run. I move through the cold and dark, turning down the familiar passageways until I find my preferred route to the surface. The air is bright and biting and no matter how much I resent it I'm grateful for the small amount of protection my coat offers. I scale up the closest fire escape and only afford myself a few seconds to adjust to the flurry-filled air before leaping across the rooftop to the neighboring building.

It isn't so much a patrol as a sprint. I run until my lungs burn and the cold has numbed my legs beyond feeling. When I skid to a halt I take in a deep breath that burns all the way down into my legs, freezing my insides to match the outside. It takes me a moment to determine where I have ended up and I chastise myself for letting my emotions distract me from paying attention to my surroundings. A ninja should always be aware. I should always be aware. I spit onto the ground and prepare to make the journey back to the lair when a ruffle of shadow flutters against the periphery. I hadn't intended on seeking out a fight this evening, but I won't turn one down if it presents itself.

I reach up behind my head, smiling at the cold slid of metal as I free my katanas from the sheath across my back. My fingers are cold and stiff, but I can't let that impact my form. I grip the handles tightly, ignoring the flash of pain it sends up into my wrists. The shadow moves again, leaping behind the air-conditioning unit with the fluidity of water in a stream. I lower into my stance and settle my breathing. Whoever it is knows that I see them. They're playing with me, making me wait. I don't have the patience for that tonight.

"Are you going to hide all night or are we going to do this?" I call out, my words swirling with the quiet snowflakes on the night air.

"You're so eager to lose?" she replies with a smirk behind the question.

I block her attack with the edge of one of my blades, easily pushing her away with a slide of steel and snow. I haven't seen her in months and the sudden sight of her is enough to push me off balance. A mask covers the lower part of her face and a wrap hides her hair from view. It doesn't matter. I can see her eyes and that's what counts. They stare out at me from across the rooftop, dark and painfully beautiful in their intensity. They crinkle at the edges and I know she's here to play, to dance. That's all we do. Circle each other like cats playing with their kill. It's wrong, it's very wrong, but I can't stop myself from playing.

"Who says I'm going to lose?" I counter, twirling and flourishing my right blade with a smirk of my own.

"History," she replies, charging at me with a sudden dip of her shoulder.

I barely stop her blade before it slices into the top of my plastron. She puts her weight onto the blow and I struggle to push her away. She leaps backwards at the last moment, making me lurch forward, off balance. She takes the opportunity to sweep my legs out from under me. I can't stop the momentum and I find myself landing with a crack on my shell. She pounces, leaning down on my chest with her knee while bracing her other leg along my side. Her blade comes down a breath away from my face, hitting the rooftop with a clang.

"I'll add this win to the books," she purrs, pressing her knee down harder.

I slide my hand up her thigh and raise my own knee to hook my foot around her ankle. The look of surprise in her eyes as I send her sprawling backwards is its own great reward. Her sword clatters from her grip and I nudge it from her reach. She struggles and bucks beneath me, trying desperately to regain the upper hand. There's no use. I have her now. I straddle her legs, making sure she can't lift her knees and pin her arms to the ground with my hands. Her mask has slipped aside during our fight and her face is pale and flushed from the cold and exertion. Snowflakes nestle in her hair, stark, icy white on a sea of black; cold and beautiful.

"Think you'll have to re-tally this one," I say, my breath more labored than I'd like with her in such close proximity.

"Shut up," she mutters with a scowling pout. "It doesn't count, you cheated," she adds with another wiggling attempt to break free.

"You're just a sore loser," I reply with a laugh. "I beat you fair and…"

She cranes her neck up and stops me short with a kiss. I shouldn't do this. I shouldn't keep doing this. It's wrong. She's foot clan. She's the enemy, but maybe she isn't. I find it increasingly difficult to convince myself of the wrongness when her tongue moves against mine and my arm snakes around her waist to pull her closer. The embrace is like our fights, like our games; passionate and heated and always peppered with a hint of competition. A small gasp escapes her mouth as my hand travels up her side and the sound is only a confirmation that I did indeed win this round.

"Where the hell have you been?" she demands between kisses, her hands finding their way inside my coat.

"Why? Miss me?" I ask, biting back a moan when she scrapes her nails down my plastron.

"No, shut up," she says, arching her back until our hips meet. "You're…you're the one who missed me," she insists, the claim trailing off into a quiet moan that I capture with a kiss.

She's right. I did miss her. I missed this. I missed our game, our dance. I try to convince myself I don't need it, that I don't want it, that I don't want her. It's wrong. These feelings are wrong, but I can't meditate them away. Absence only made them stronger. I'm at her mercy and I think she knows it. I break away from the kiss, forcing her to meet my gaze. Her lips are red and pouty and a blush tints her pale skin like a porcelain doll. She has never looked lovelier. I reach out a hand to brush away a stray snowflake, her eyes blinking in surprise at the gentle touch. Gentle isn't part of our game, but I think it should be.

She stares up at me, stillness and painfully held breaths. I don't regret it. I can't. It's done and I can't take it back. She knows now. She knows this isn't just a game for me and what she does with that knowledge could easily destroy me. Something like fear flashes in her eyes and I pain to see it. Maybe this is how I rid myself of these feelings. Her not accepting them will make it easier to walk away. It will still be painful, but at least it will be final. I drop my hand away, only making it a few centimeters before she catches it in her own.

She holds it tightly, clutching it to her chest. She looks up at me and there's a challenge there, as there usually is. She is daring me to say something, to perhaps tease her or start the dance all over again. I won't. Not now, not with her holding my hand and solid and warm beneath me. She reaches up and takes hold of my bandana, pulling me into a kiss that makes our previous encounters seem like pecks on the cheek.

"If you…tell anyone I held your hand…I will kill you," she warns between desperate, panting kisses.

Even as she moans and writhes against me I believe her threat to be true.

"I won't," I promise.

We wrap around one another in a new sort of game and with her warmth pressed against me I no longer feel the cold.


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Notes: Donnie and Master Splinter have a little talk...**

* * *

The Talk

I stare at the tarnished and scraped metal of the turn-style. It's the last barrier between myself and the lair and I'm in no rush to cross it. I'm in trouble. I know I'm in trouble. I can feel the impending punishment in the air like a heavy cloud of smog waiting to choke me. Sensei had said I was not allowed to go over to April's without Mr. O'Neil's permission and I certainly wasn't allowed to spend the night. He had been very clear about that. There was no room for argument. I couldn't pretend that I didn't know the rules. I did exactly what he told me not to and I was about to pay the price.

_He's going to be so mad. Mr. O'Neil probably already called him. They're going to try to keep the two of you apart. They don't approve. They know you're not good enough for her._

A small whimper escapes my throat and I clutch at the front of my sweatshirt, trying to find the leather strap underneath. The clawing, unrelenting pinch of anxiety flares to life somewhere deep in my chest and spreads in an instant until my limbs burn with the flush of it and my thoughts are nothing but crippling. I reach for my wrist, stopping halfway there with a flash of shame that almost stops the panic head-on.

_Go ahead, hurt yourself. Freak. Let everyone see how weak you are._

I ball my hands into fists and hold them resolutely at my sides. I close my eyes and take in a slow breath through my nose, holding it for a few seconds before letting it out with a careful, measured exhale. When I open my eyes I turn my focus onto what I can see; the scratched metal of the turn-style, the rough bricks beneath my feet, the warm glow in the distance inside the lair. I curl my toes inside my boots and take another slow breath. It doesn't stop the pinch in my chest or silence the constant stream of bad thoughts, but it lessens them enough that I can unfurl my fingers without fear of hurting myself.

"Donnie?"

Raph is on me before I can reply. He moves surprisingly fast for someone still healing and I'm about to chastise him about pushing too fast too soon, but his arms are around me and I'm pulled into a hug that makes my ribs creak. I can't move, his arms pin mine at my sides. I squirm and try to break free of the embrace. He pushes me back and I don't have time to block the punch he aims at my shoulder.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he demands. "You can't call? We thought…you can't let us know you're all right?"

_They thought something horrible happened to you. You're selfish. You deserve whatever punishment Sensei has waiting for you._

"I…I didn't…I'm sorry. I fell asleep, it was an accident. I didn't mean to. I'm sorry," I say in a rush of panic, any calm I managed to cultivate leaving my body in a painful, anxious wave.

Raph pulls me into another bone-crushing hug and I dip my chin to rest on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry," I murmur repeatedly, clinging to him with more desperation than I would like.

"It's all right," he says quietly. "It's all right, you're all right. Just don't scare us like that again, understood?"

I nod and look down at my feet ashamed when he finally releases me. He takes a step back and squares his shoulders as though he suddenly remembered he was supposed to be macho. I would laugh and roll my eyes if I wasn't so preoccupied with trying to keep from crawling out of my own skin. He clears his throat and rubs the back of his head.

"Uh, Sensei is waiting for you in the dojo," he says, sounding as though he hates being the barer of this particular bad news.

I flinch and feel all of my muscles tense at once. "How…how mad is he?" I ask, afraid that if I raise my voice above a whisper our father might overhear.

Raph looks over his shoulder towards the dojo and then shrugs. "I dunno," he says with a sigh. "I mean, he ain't happy. He was talkin' to April's Dad on the cheese phone for like a half an hour."

I flinch again and another whimper breaks through my ever crumbling reserve.

"Did you…I mean, he walked in on you guys? In bed?" he asks and there's a smirk that says all of his dirty thoughts without having to speak them out loud.

"What? No!" I hiss, my face burning with a blush that might as well be an admission of my guilt. "I mean, well, technically, yes we were in bed, but we were just sleeping and…and shut up," I growl, punching him in the chest when he breaks out into a fit of cackles.

"Oh my God," he says, giggling like an idiot. "Was April naked?"

"No, and don't…I'm not going to, don't talk about her. You don't even…we were just sleeping!" I stammer, quickly losing control over the situation and my grasp on the English language.

He's laughing too hard to tease me any further at least coherently. I'm glad his need to make fun of me trumped his concern over my wellbeing.

"Jerk," I grumble, pushing past him.

_Whatever Master Splinter has planned can't be more humiliating than this_.

The short walk to the dojo is long enough for me to rethink that notion. I linger outside the door, my hand instinctively moving to grip the front of my sweatshirt. He's inside, waiting for me. Candlelight, warm and flickering moves across the intricate patterns of the rugs covering the floor. I'm sure he's meditating. It would be rude to interrupt. Maybe I should come back later. It would be the considerate thing to do.

"Donatello."

I flinch and cover my mouth before a surprised squeak escapes.

"Come in," he adds when I remain silent and still as a statue.

I close my eyes and take in a deep breath through my nose. I have no reason to be afraid. Sensei would never hurt me. I reach out into that deep, dark place where scents and memory collide and let out my breath when I find the sweet tang of wildflowers. April. I open my eyes and set my mouth in a determined line. No matter what Sensei has to say he can't take her away from me. He can't change what we have. I'll take my punishment as it comes, because at the end of the day I'll still have her. I shuffle forward into the dojo, keeping my gaze lowered in respect.

"Sensei," I say, kneeling before him and lowering forward onto the mat.

I sit up after a few long, horrible moments of silence. Master Splinter is sitting with his hands resting atop his legs, surrounded by tall, pillar candles and incense. His nose twitches and I'm not surprised when I hear the low, disappointed noise deep in his throat. My courage is rapidly faltering under his stern gaze. He does not look happy. I know speaking before I'm spoken to will only make things worse, so I stay as still as I'm able in the uncomfortable position.

"I spoke with Mr. O'Neil," he says evenly, smoothing out a wrinkle in his robe.

I swallow when he lets the statement hang in the air. "Oh?" I mumble, regretting it when Sensei makes another throat noise.

"I thought I was quite clear, Donatello," he says, taking in a deep breath. "You were not to go to the O'Neil residence without Kirby's knowledge."

I bite my bottom lip and nod in reply.

"And you were most certainly not to spend the night. You have not only shown great disrespect towards Mr. O'Neil and myself, but you dishonor April with your actions."

Something primal and sharp snaps inside my chest and my quick anger gets the best of my common sense.

"I know I shouldn't have spent the night. I didn't mean to fall asleep, it was an accident and I'm sorry to go against your wishes, Sensei, but I did not show April any dishonor. I would never…"

"I am not finished," Master Splinter says and his sharp tone stops me from digging my hole any deeper.

He takes in another slow breath, his fingers curling in before stretching out in time with his exhale. "I know how deeply you care for Miss O'Neil," he says, his voice softening considerably. "I understand how love can consume, especially young love."

_Oh. Oh no._

"You may feel as though…as though you must show that love in…"

"We don't have to talk about this," I say, interrupting him with a frantic voice that cracks on the last syllable. "I…I know about…that…we don't have to talk about it."

He lifts one eyebrow and slowly tilts his head to the side. "Oh?" he replies in that tone he saves for when he thinks he knows better. "And what is it you know, exactly?"

_Run. Throw a smoke bomb in his face and run. You might be able to get away. Of course you won't. He'll catch you._

"I…well, umm, I know…that. I mean, technically…that…stuff," I stammer and trip over every word, certain that my face must be on fire with how hot the blush burns across my skin.

"Hmm," he replies with a nod and a thoughtful pull on his beard. "What I know, Donatello is that if you cannot even say the word then perhaps you are not ready for the physical act itself."

_If there is a hell this is it._

I lower my gaze and stare at the deep scar along my wrist. "I…we…hai, Sensei," I murmur, thinking that agreeing with him will be the quickest way to end this horrible conversation.

"I know you love her, my son," he says quietly. "I see how you look at her. It is the same way I once looked at my beloved Tang Shen, but love is a fragile thing. It needs to be tended with a gentle hand. There is no need to rush these things. You are both so young and our lives are difficult enough without added complications."

_He thinks you're moving too fast. That you're pressuring her into things._

"She loves me too," I say, the words barely audible even in the quiet of the dojo. "She said it," I add, lifting my head to meet his gaze. "She said it first. She wouldn't say it if she didn't mean it."

I feel my heart tighten in my chest while I wait with bated breath for him to respond. I need him to believe him. I need him to believe in us. For all my bluster and pride I care what he thinks. He's my father and I want his approval. If he thinks I'm undeserving of love, of her love, what hope can there be for the rest of the world? What hope can there be for us if my own father believes we are doomed to failure?

"I know she does, my son," he says, his hand reaching out to cover my own. "I see that as well."


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's note: The next part of _The Winter Interlude_ series. An April POV following the events in _The Talk._ Apritello to the max in this one. Seriously, if you don't like fluffy, snuggles turn back now. There will be a follow up to this one…of the far more smutty variety. So if that's more your speed hang on. It will happen.**

* * *

The entire school day dragged at the pace of a glacier, as it always did on a Friday. This particular Friday is no exception. Every droll, long-winded lecture and frustrating math problem is putting my teeth on edge and by the time I make it to last period I'm practically squirming with anxious energy. I slip my hand into my book-bag, trying to surreptitiously check my T-phone for messages. I slide my thumb over the screen and can't help but pout when I see that Donnie has yet to reply to my text.

"Oh, my…is that shaped like a turtle shell?"

I jump at the hissed accusation and quickly drop the T-phone back into my bag. Irma leans over my shoulder and shakes her head as I struggle to pull the zipper closed.

"That is just…I don't want to say pathetic, so…adorable, maybe? I mean, they're pretty much the same thing so…"

"Donnie made it," I snap, a blush racing up from under the collar of my shirt. "And it's a million times better than any phone you could buy in a store, so…"

My frantic and quite honestly, embarrassing explanation is cut short by the shrill peeling of the bell signaling the end of the day. I stand up so quickly my knee slams into the bottom of my desk. I lurch forward and silently thank Master Splinter for the ninja training that keeps me from toppling over all together. My blush burns to life again at the sound of Irma's stifled laughter.

"What is with you today?" she asks, slinging her bag across her shoulders.

"Nothing," I reply a little too quickly. "I…I mean, I'm tired. I didn't sleep well last night."

"Uh huh," she murmurs with a knowing lift of her eyebrow.

We bob and weave our way through the crowded hallway to our lockers. My mood improves considerably knowing that I am that much closer to escape. I twirl the dial left and then right and one more time before popping the lock. I shrug into my coat and only half listen to Irma's latest diatribe about the injustice and entrenched patriarchy within the school newspaper. I shrug into my coat, zipping it up to my chin in preparation for the cold.

"So, do you think he could?"

I blink, suddenly painfully aware that I wasn't listening to a thing Irma was saying.

"Hmm?" I reply.

She rolls her eyes and pulls on a knit cap with the grinning visage of Jack Skeleton affixed to the front. "My laptop is acting up. Do you think Turtle Tech support can take a look at it?"

"Don't call him that," I mutter, shivering as we walk through the door and the frigid air waiting for us outside. "And I'm sure he would. I'll ask him tonight."

We say our goodbyes and I make a beeline for the closest sewer entrance. The air isn't any less cold below ground and I quicken my pace in hopes that it'll keep me warm. It has been almost a week since I've seen Donnie. A week since my father found us sleeping together in my bed. A week since I had the most embarrassing conversation ever with my father. I didn't want to think about that right now or ever again if I was being honest. I suppose it was an inevitability. We were bound to have the talk sooner or later, but I didn't anticipate it including the added embarrassment of discussing the physical and emotional complications of a mutant boyfriend. I still can't look Dad in the eye.

The light from the lair shines out onto the tracks and I hurry forward in anticipation of a working heating system. The T.V. is on in the pit, the loud, high-pitched screeching of the cartoon character on screen competing with the dull thuds of Raph's fists connecting with the practice dummy. He's favoring his uninjured arm and can't hide the wince that crosses his face every time he attempts to strike with the other. I unravel the scarf from my face and shake a few stray snowflakes from my hair.

"Hey guys," I greet them with a smile and a wave.

Raph grunts in reply before squaring off against the practice dummy once more. Mikey waves over the back of the couch, his mouth too full of gummy worms for a proper greeting. There is no sign of Leo, but I'm sure he's in the dojo. My skin starts to burn from the sudden warmth of the lair and I shrug out of my coat to drape it over the back of the couch. The door to Donnie's lair is ajar and I can't keep a smile from sneaking across my face at the mere thought of seeing him. I slip through the opening, intent on surprising him.

There is no need for tiptoeing. Donnie is sitting in front of his computer, face down on the keyboard, snoring. I walk up behind him and lift his hand off the mouse. He crinkles his nose and shifts slightly in his chair, but doesn't wake. I lean over his shoulder and press a light kiss against his cheek. I pout when he remains sleeping, torn between knowing how rare and important sleep is to him and my selfish desire for some much needed alone time.

"Donnie," I whisper, pressing my lips lightly against his neck. "Donatello, time to get up."

He stirs, mumbling something incoherent under his breath. His eyes flutter open. My smile slips away as he pushes back, quick and sudden with a sharp intake of breath and undeniable fear in his eyes. I narrowly avoid getting hit as his chair squeals from the sudden movement. I reach for him, taking hold of his hands in mine. I force his gaze and take a slow, deliberate breath for him to mimic.

"Hey, hey it's all right," I say quietly. "You fell asleep. You're home, you're all right."

He settles in an instant, the fear sliding from his face with a single downturn pinch of shame. "A-April?" he says around a swallow. "What…when did you get here?" he asks.

"Just now," I reply, lifting his hands to kiss the scar along his wrist. "I didn't mean to startle you."

He takes another breath and the shame is gone as well, taken over by an embarrassed blush along the skin of his neck and face. "Oh, no it's…its fine. I must have dozed off."

I trace my finger along the fading indent of the computer keys on his face. "I'd say so."

"Must have been more tired than I thought," he replies with a sheepish smile and slight wince. "Master Splinter hasn't exactly been going easy on me in training."

A tiny squirm of guilt wriggles in my stomach. "Punishment?" I ask with a frown.

He nods. "Of sorts," he says, adding with a deepening blush. "He seems to think I need to exert more energy through training."

I drape my arms back around him and give his shoulders an understanding hug. "Was he mad?" I ask quietly. "I know Dad talked to him for a long time and then sat me down for even longer. Seriously, I thought he was going to break out a diagram."

His nose crinkles and his mouth almost settles in a zigzag. "Not mad…per say. He wasn't happy that I went against his direct orders and," he sighs and leans his chin against the top of my hands where they sit clasped along his plastron. "He thinks I'm not upholding your honor. That…that we're going too fast."

I laugh, even though it might be the most inappropriate response. I kiss the back of his neck when he bristles and grunts low in his throat. "If anything I took your honor."

He twirls around in his chair, his face pinched into an exaggerate pout. "Excuse me?"

I mirror his pout which only makes his nose flare. I laugh again and crawl up onto his lap, locking my hands behind his neck before leaning forward so our foreheads touch. His skin is cool against mine and lingers with the faint smell of soap. There's a deeper, earthy scent beneath and I close my eyes so my nose can focus on it more clearly. It's Donnie and it has become as familiar to me as every dip and scratch along his shell. I move my head to nuzzle against his cheek, smiling when I can feel the pout against my skin.

"You don't think we're moving too fast do you?" I ask, not giving him time to answer. "Because I don't," I open my eyes to meet his gaze. I need him to know how serious I am. "I have never done anything with you that I wasn't ready for or that I didn't want to do and I promise I never will. You don't have to worry about my honor or moving too fast. If I'm not comfortable with something I will say so," I add with a tiny smile. "And I expect you to do the same."

He sighs and some of the tension slips from his shoulders like water over stone. "I don't…I don't like them thinking that I…that I'm pressuring you…"

"It doesn't matter what they or anyone else thinks," I say, perhaps a bit harsher than I intended. I take hold of his face and lean in close. "They're not in this relationship, are they? All that matters is how we feel."

He doesn't look entirely convinced and I'm sure I'm going up against one hell of a guilt trip from his father. I won't go down without a fight. We're not doing anything wrong. We're not doing anything shameful. We love each other and no amount of lectures or thinly veiled disapproval from anyone else can change that. I lean in and kiss him as though it might be our last. I press my knees against the outside of his thighs and roll my hips forward. His mouth opens to mine and I moan against the warm feel of his tongue and the firm press of his hands along my back.

"Shh," he breathes into our next kiss, the warning ending with a chuckle that rumbles through his chest. "Door…is open."

I moan again, delighting in the nervous little squirm it sends through his entire body. "So?" I murmur, grazing my teeth over his bottom lip.

"So…I don't think…I can handle another hour of training…if Sensei catches us," he replies, not sounding all that eager to stop even with his protests.

I let go of his lip and sit back, resting my weight on the top of his thighs. "Then we'll just have to make sure he doesn't catch us," I say with a devilish smirk.

His eyes widen before blinking out a sharp pattern. "What did you have in mind?" he whispers, looking over my shoulder as though he half expects Master Splinter to be listening at the door.

I lightly trail my fingertips up his arm and offer a little shrug in reply. "Oh, I don't know, but I do hear that some of the northern tunnels are quite lovely this time of year."

He blinks some more before a chuckle breaks through his nervous demeanor, ending in a quiet snort he tries to hide with a hand clamped over his mouth. I grin and continue a path up to the soft place where his shell meets skin, knowing full-well that a few well-placed brushes there will turn him into putty in my hands. He bites his bottom lip and valiantly tries to hold back a whimper as I slowly move my fingertips in tiny circles.

"The Shellraiser has a heater, doesn't it?" I ask, doing my best impression of someone with only innocent intensions.

He nods quickly, still biting his lip.

"Hmm, seems to me we could slip out through the garage door and take her somewhere a little more…private," I punctuate the last word with a firm press of my fingers.

I'm rewarded with a near silent rumble in his chest. I feel it reverberate through every part of me that presses against his plastron. His grip tightens around me and I let out a less than dignified squeak as he lifts me into the air. Clinging to his neck he carries me across the room, snagging the blanket from the cot. The garage door is already open and I pepper his face with kisses as he hurries towards the Shellraiser with eager, shuffling steps. It's frantic and silly and makes me grin until my face hurts.

I don't care about going slow or some misplaced notion of honor. Our lives are filled with enough hurt and complication I'm resolved to take moments of happiness whenever I can find them. I'm going to dig my claws in and never let go. Right now is all that matters and right now I'm wrapped safely in his strong arms with the coolness of his skin doing very little to ebb the growing fire across my own. We're happy. We're in love and there is nothing wrong with that.


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's Notes: A little something different for you this evening. This chapter is from Tia Feinstein's POV. I'm starting to really like her as a character and I hope others do as well, because I have plans for her moving forward. Anywho, hope you enjoy it!**

**Also, I decided to take the previous chapter 12, along with a companion April POV and move them to their own posting so _Winter Interlude_ could stay Rated T. If you're interested in the smutty chapters they are over in the Mature section under the story _Glorious Detail. _**

* * *

Just Dance

"Ah! No, no, no! I turned left, I swear!" he exclaims around a chuckle as his Koopa-driven kart veers off track. "This thing must not be working," he says with another laugh and a flail of the controller.

I laugh, but don't let his antics distract me from the task at hand. This is a race after all. The entire situation is still amazingly surreal. If you would have told me a few days ago that I would be spending my Friday night playing Mario Kart with a giant, talking turtle I would have called the men in white coats. As it is I'm still not convinced this isn't some kind of weird fever dream. Poppy says we can trust them that they're not dangerous and if there's one person in this whole world I'll listen to it's my grandfather. If he says the giant talking turtles with ninja weapons aren't going to hurt us I guess I believe him.

"Must be operator error," I mumble with a smirk as I lean forward and squint at the screen as my kart goes skittering across the finish line in first place. "Ha! I win again!" I cry, jumping up from the couch to do a proper victory dance.

"Yeah…you win again," he chuckles with a grin that scrunches his freckles together.

I catch him watching me out of the corner of my eye and my nose crinkles in suspicion. "You wouldn't be letting me win, would you, Michelangelo?" I ask, crossing my arms over my chest.

His eyes widen into saucers and he does his best impression of someone telling the truth. "What? No, of course not."

"Uh huh," I murmur, my foot instantly tapping out a sharp pattern on the carpet. "Rematch," I say, kneeling in front of the console. "_Just Dance_."

I change the disks and turn to face him, my smug smile faltering at the evil, little smirk on his face.

"You sure you want to do this?" he asks, raising the ridge over his right eye.

"Oh, I'm more than sure," I reply, holding my arms out wide in challenge. "I've got twelve years of forced dance classes under my belt, son. You're stepping into my dojo now."

The smirk widens and he takes his time standing up from the couch. "All right, but don't say I didn't warn you," he says, rolling his shoulders and stretching from one side to the other.

We push the couch back to make room and take our places in front of the television screen. Gone are the easy smiles and darting glances. It's time for battle. Game faces must be in place, limbs poised at the ready; feet light and prepared for anything. He has challenged my honor, he has challenged my groove. This is war. This is _Just Dance_.

"Ready, turtle tot," I ask with a confident smirk, tightening my grip on the controller.

"I was born ready," he replies, shaking his head in warning. "You've never even seen moves like this, you, oops!"

I laugh triumphantly as his trash talking keeps him from starting in time with the music and he rushes to catch up with the movement on screen. He's surprisingly nimble and light on his feet for someone lugging around a giant shell like the world's most inflexible backpack. By the time the theme to _The Ghostbusters_ rolls around I'm laughing too hard to keep up with the dance moves. He does one more well-time swivel of his hips before launching into an impromptu backflip, landing soundlessly while wiggling his fingers at me.

"Show off," I snicker with a roll of my eyes. "You know, I can do that too, I just choose not to."

"Really?" he says with a confused blink, still bobbing his head to the music.

"No," I laugh, swatting his shoulder. "I'm kidding."

He blinks again and then his mouth spreads into a grin. "Right, yeah, I knew that," he says with a laugh.

I pull my hair back into a ponytail as the song ends. "How about we call it a truce and get something to eat?" I suggest. "You hungry?"

"Always," he says and the gleam in his eyes makes me believe he is being entirely serious.

He follows me into the kitchen and I notice not for the first time how he's almost silent as he moves. I open the fridge and stare inside, suddenly realizing I have no idea what giant, talking turtles eat. I consider offering him some lettuce, but that seems ridiculous somehow. There is actually a small container of mealworms, courtesy of Poppy and his pet turtle Pickles, but that might be rude so I continue to stare dumbfounded at the shelves of leftovers.

"Do you like to cook?" he asks.

He's walking around the small kitchen in a lazy circuit of the room, apparently incapable of sitting still for any length of time.

"Um, not really," I admit, moving aside a carton of milk. "I'm much better at baking."

"Well, that works out great," he says, drumming idly on the countertop. "I can cook dinner and you can make dessert."

"You cook?" I say, trying my best not to sound too surprised.

He nods enthusiastically. "Pretty much every day. My brothers would starve without me."

It's hard enough to get my mind around the idea of the two turtles I've seen with my own eyes, I'm not sure I'm quite ready to except the fact that there is an entire family of them living in the sewers. I step aside and hold my hand out towards the fridge to give him access. He grins and darts forward, rummaging happily for ingredients. I wander over to the cabinets beside the sink and stand on my tiptoes in an attempt to snag a glass from the top shelf. I sigh, resigned to my fate and drag a chair over to the counter so I can reach.

"Hmm, I could make some chicken salad," he says, his voice muffled as he dives deeper into the wilds of the refrigerator.

"Hey, if you're offering to cook I will eat anything," I say, filling two glasses with water before hopping down to the floor.

He closes the fridge door with a snap of his hip, his arms full of food and an infectious grin plastered on his green face. I can't help but smile in return. After a long day of classes, followed by an even longer afternoon dealing with customers it's a nice change of pace to be around someone with an easy smile. He sets up shop on the counter beside the stove, prattling on about every move he makes with the enthusiasm of someone who loves what they do. He pauses in front of the fridge, leaning forward to get a better look at one of the many photographs Poppy has plastered to the surface with colorful magnets.

"Where's this?" he asks, pointing at a photo of Poppy and I sitting atop a pair of irritated looking camels.

My smile falters slightly at the bittersweet memory. "Oh, that's from our trip to Egypt," I reply, taking a quick sip of water.

"Egypt? Wow," he breathes, clearly impressed. "I've never even been out of New York," he tilts his head and asks quietly when I avoid his inquisitive gaze. "I'm sorry…was it not a good trip?"

"What? Oh, no, it was great, it was just…" I sigh and take a breath to give me time to decide how much I want to admit to. "It was right after my Dad passed. Poppy and I went to all the places he had wanted to visit or at least as many as we could manage anyway."

He straightened and pressed his mouth together in a thin line. The genuine look of concern in his eyes was sudden and shocking to see on a face that was so obviously not human. I clutched my glass tightly between my hands and held it closer to my chest, regretting saying anything at all. I wasn't looking for pity.

"I'm sorry you lost your Dad," he says and there's no doubt in my mind that he means it. "But…but I'm sure he would be happy to know that you and your grandpa are so close," he smiles and it warms up the entire room. "And you must have had one heck of an adventure. Did you see any mummies?"

I sniffle, caught off guard by the sudden tightness in my throat. He pretends not to notice and I'm grateful. "We did, actually," I reply with a tiny chuckle. "They were in a museum though."

He smiles and turns some of his attention back to the food. "Donnie and I tried to sneak into the Natural History museum once. It…did not end well."

I grin and lean forward to elbow him where I assume his ribs are. "Aw, come on. You can't set up a story like that and leave me hanging."

"Hmm? Oh, you don't want to hear about that boring old night," he replies with a dismissive wave of his hand and a complete failure at trying to hide a smirk.

"Mikey!"

He turns around at the sound of his brother's voice ringing up the stairs from Poppy's clinic below. The purple-masked turtle sticks his head into the kitchen offering me a kind smile in greeting. I don't know if they're actually related or how any of that works, but they call each other brother and that's enough of an explanation for me. He towers over Mikey and myself, even with the constant, nervous slouch to his shoulders. He's all long limbs and boney elbows and knees where Mikey is round-faced and almost squat in comparison.

"Sorry, but Leo called," he says, holding up what I assume is a cellphone shaped like a turtle shell. "We gotta get going."

Mikey pouts, obviously not one to hide his disdain. "We just got here," he says, waving at the counter. "I made dinner. Can't we at least eat?"

Donnie rubs the back of his neck and then reaches up to grip the leather strap across his chest. "I don't…he really wants us to come home."

Mikey sighs and I get the distinct feeling that more was just said than the actual words I heard. "Fine, give me five minutes to help clean up."

His brother nods and ducks back into the hallway and the stairs beyond. I wait until he's out of earshot.

"Everything all right?" I ask.

"Yeah, yeah. Leo is just getting really strict about curfews and stuff lately," Mikey replies with another pout.

I swat his hands away as he attempts to clean up. "I got it, don't worry about it," I assure him. "Thanks for making dinner. Sorry you couldn't stay to actually eat it."

His pout morphs instantly into a grin. "Yeah?"

I laugh. "Yeah," I reply, snagging a paper-bag from the center of the table. "Here, at least take some cookies for the road."

He peels back the top of the bag, sticking his nose inside for a long, exaggerated sniff before clutching it to his chest as though they were the most precious things in all of creation.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome," I snicker, waving him off. "Now get going before your brother has a nervous breakdown."

He bounds towards the door, gripping the frame before stepping over the threshold. "Hey, Tia?"

"Yeah?" I reply, looking over my shoulder at him.

"We're…we're friends, right?" he asks and there's a hopefulness and vulnerability in his voice that takes me by surprise.

"Yes, Mikey," I say without hesitation. "We're friends."

Like the flick of a switch the uncertainty is gone and his face lights up with a smile. "Good," he says. "I'm glad."

He offers a small wave goodbye before bounding down the stairs. I stand silently in the center of the kitchen, the room somehow seeming duller without his presence. A tiny laugh escapes my lips and I clamp my hand over my mouth to keep another at bay.

"Me too," I say around another stray giggle before helping myself to some delicious chicken salad.


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's notes: I've had some trouble writing lately. Mostly due to some real-life stress that is destroying any drive to be creative. Hence the long break between chapters. Have some Mikey/Tia fluffiness tonight :0) **

* * *

After Hours

"Are you sure it's all right if I'm here?" I ask, lingering just inside the doorway.

The café is empty, with the curtains drawn and the chairs flipped up onto the tables. It doesn't matter, I still feel exposed. Like any minute a crowd of hungry college kids are going to burst through the door and spot a giant, talking turtle standing beside the counter. I grip the edges of my coat and reach up to pull my hat snug onto my head. It's warm and cozy and smells like delicious baked goods, but I still can't find it in myself to relax enough to take off my winter clothes. Tia's head pops out from the room behind the counter, her hair sticking up in every possible direction from the wind.

"Yeah, everything is locked up," she says with a smile, attempting and failing to get her hair under control. "Joey stuck me with the inventory shift so I'll be the only one here until at least six when the opener gets in."

She gives up on the struggle to tame her curls and lifts her coat to hang on the row of hooks lining the wall. "Take your coat off, stay awhile," she says with a smirk and a nod of her head. "I'll make you a Panini if you keep me company."

The offer of food and the sing-song tone of her voice pushes away some of my nerves and I feel a smile start to wiggle across my face. "What kind of Panini?" I ask, unzipping my coat.

"Hmm, how about grilled cheese and bacon?" she asks, plugging in the grill. "You could finish up these macaroons while you wait."

She slides a pale, pink box across the counter with a half dozen of the delicate little cookies inside. My smile quickly turns into a grin and I pry my mittens off with my teeth before diving into the box with glee. A content sigh passes my lips and I close my eyes to savor the taste of the first cookie. They are light and crunchy with a soft center; everything a cookie should be. I'm sure my pupils are dilated. I have to control myself before I eat the rest of them all at once. Tia laughs quietly and when I open my eyes she's grinning.

"Good right?" she says, already moving about the small space to make the promised Panini.

"They're delicious," I reply around a mouthful of macaroon.

I perch on one of the stools at the counter, watching her move about the small kitchen. She hums and shimmies her way down the counter to the fridge at the far end. I shouldn't stare as she leans in to grab something from the bottom shelf. I shouldn't, but I can't help myself. She's still humming and swaying and the view is hypnotizing. I have lost any sense of better judgment I possess. I'm powerless to resist. The sound of the fridge closing snaps me from my haze and I look down at the box of cookies before she can catch me staring.

"They make it hard to stick to my diet," she says with a laugh, but I can see her smile dip slightly at the corner.

"You don't need to be on a diet," I reply instantly, eating another cookie.

I'm not sure if it's the right thing to say. I don't have a lot of experience with things like this, well, any experience if I'm being honest. I just know that anything that threatens to take away her smile is not all right by me. She waves off my comment.

"Tell that to my butt," she says with a snort, closing the Panini press.

I cram another cookie into my mouth and definitely say the wrong thing. "I think you have a nice butt."

I gasp at my own idiocy and pound on my plastron with my fist as the cookie lodges in my throat. She leans over the counter and slaps my shell. Which does nothing, but I appreciate the effort. I manage to clear my throat after a few more loud hacking coughs. She hands me a glass of water and a take a careful first sip. Maybe she didn't hear me. I did have a lot of food in my mouth. I gulp down the rest of the water and set the empty glass aside. Her hand is still on the back of my shell.

"So," she says slowly. "You like my butt, huh?"

I cough and only grin in reply, hoping it's cute and not creepy. She's smiling again so I must be doing something right. She giggles and her hand lifts from my shell. The Panini press sizzles and I take in a deep breath of intoxicating, bacon-scented air. She lifts the press and slides the sandwich onto a plate before slicing the sandwich in half. The crunch of the toasted bread makes my stomach growl. Tia leans on the counter, picking up half of the sandwich while waiting for me to do the same.

"Cheers," she says as we clink the halves against one another.

"Cheers," I reply, eagerly taking a bite.

We eat in silence for a few moments; the quiet hum of the fridge and the crunch of the bread the only sound in the room. I straighten at the sudden buzz of my T-Phone in my pocket. My eyes roll of their own accord. I'm sure it's Leo. He's been on edge the last few weeks and it is only getting worse with each passing day. I thought it was too good to be true when I was able to leave the lair on my own tonight. Tia raises an eyebrow before taking another bite of her sandwich.

"Ya gonna answer that?" she asks, nodding in the direction of the buzz.

I dust off my hands and drop the remainder of my sandwich onto the plate. The text is not a happy one, each word laced with guilt. I know he worries. I know he's on edge, but I'm not going to let that ruin my night. I keep my reply brief and to the point, already feeling guilty when I slide the phone back into my coat. He's right, I should have checked in. I said I would. It only would have taken me a couple seconds.

"Everything all right?" Tia asks quietly.

My stomach turns and squiggles into a knot. I look down at the last few bites of my sandwich. I should probably send Leo another text. I should apologize. He's only doing what he thinks is best for us. Even if it does mean extra training and checking up on every move we make.

"It was my brother…he's mad I didn't check in when I got here," I say quietly, forcing myself to take a bite. The sandwich is too delicious to allow guilt to keep me from finishing it.

"Leonardo?" she asks and I nod in reply.

"He…he worries," I say, wiggling in my chair.

"Because of what happened to Donnie?" she asks, resting her hand gently on the top of mine.

I barely have time to linger on how warm and soft her skin is before the squiggle of guilt in my stomach is joined by something equally unpleasant. I suppose it makes sense that her grandfather would have told her about what happened in that awful place. He was in there with Donnie. He knows what that woman did to him and I guess Tia knows too. It doesn't seem right. He's my brother. I know him better than anyone and even I don't have the whole story. Tia and Doc are our friends. I believe that, but this is family.

"You know what happened to him?" I ask, trying to sound nonchalant but not quite making it.

She's quiet for a moment and I can't bring myself to look her in the eye, guilt weighing heavy on my thoughts. I keep doing the wrong thing today. It isn't fair for me to resent her for what she may or may not know. It's not like Donnie told her. I have no right to be jealous. This isn't about me. I squirm, awkward silence always making my stomach twist into knots. I don't want to make her feel bad. I need to make this better. Maybe a joke? I search my brain for some of my better material, trying to avoid bathroom humor at all cost. Perhaps something topical? I should watch the news more often.

"I only know that he was captured," she says quietly and her hand is back on top of mine. "None of the details. Poppy didn't think that was his secret to tell and I didn't ask."

I lift my gaze from where it settled on our hands. She's smiling, but it isn't the carefree, easy upturn of her mouth I'm used to. It's small and strong and offers only comfort. She understands what it's like to have to stand by and watch someone you love hurt and be powerless to stop it. I try to help. I want to help and I do everything in my power to do so, but sometimes there isn't a fix. I can't force things to be the way they were. It'll take time. I turn my hand over and fumble for a few seconds to find a comfortable way for our fingers to intertwine. We don't exactly match. That's all right. It would be boring if we did.

"Thank you," I reply, clearing my throat to get the words out.

She nods and I don't have to explain myself. She gets it. I'm starting to think she gets me and the very thought makes my chest tighten and my skin warm. Her hand slips from mine and the moment is over far too quickly. She reaches up and turns on the stereo above the counter, filling the empty restaurant with a lively beat that instantly sets my toe tapping. She wiggles her hips and my skin warms further. She really does have a nice butt. I'll keep that thought to myself for now. I watch her scoop up a clipboard and bob her head in time to the music as she starts to check off the inventory.

"Thanks for coming tonight," she says over the music. "I always get a little creeped out being here by myself at night."

"Any time," I reply with a grin, hopping off the stool so I can sway with the music.

"And, I know it might not be my place," she says, picking each word with obvious care. "But try not to get too annoyed with Leonardo. After Dad died Mom and Poppy barely let me out of their sight. He's just worried something bad will happen. Give it some time, when he realizes everything is all right, he'll relax."

"Yeah…I'm just not sure I can survive all this extra training," I reply with a wry smile and a wiggle of my arms. "So…weak…" I add, feigning a collapse.

She giggles and leans over the counter to stare down at me sprawled on the white and black checkered floor. "Well, you better have some more macaroons to keep your strength up," she suggests, tossing down the box. "Can't have you passing out on me."

I clutch the box to my chest and grin. Dark hair frames her round face and with the light shining down from above I catch a glimpse of the lightest smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose and reach up to brush my thumb across her skin before I can think better of it. Her eyes widen slightly, but she doesn't pull away so I let my hand linger. The brown of her cheeks darkens and I can feel the warmth of the blush against my fingertips.

"I better get back to work," she says, her eyes shy and downturned. "This inventory won't count itself."

She disappears back over the counter and I press my hand to my own face before the warmth of her skin fades and I forget the feel of it. Now I can remember it forever.


	14. Chapter 14

**Author's Notes: ****Donnie POV. Warning slight angst ahead. I blame IDW for giving me the Donnie sads today.**

* * *

Wait and See

"I got this recipe from Margie," Mr. O'Neil explains, cutting into the eggplant parmesan with obvious excitement. "You remember her, right, April? She works in accounts payable at the office."

"Oh, um, yeah, of course," April says, shaking her head no at me when her father's back is turned.

"It smells really good, Mr. O'Neil," I say, feeling an undeniable need to fill every silence.

Everything about this entire situation is unfamiliar and more than a little surreal. I'm having a tough time wrapping my mind around it. Dinner with April is one thing. It is nothing out of the ordinary. I know what to expect, what is expected. This is a whole other beast entirely. I shift in my chair, the wood seeming to squeak loudly with each move I make. I don't know where to set my hands or keep my gaze. I lift a hand to grip the strap across my chest and wonder if I should have worn a shirt…or pants…or something. The sharp and obvious fact that I don't belong in this scene of human normalcy makes it increasingly difficult to swallow as my throat tightens and I fight the urge to flee.

"Hopefully it tastes good too," Mr. O'Neil replies with a chuckle, before rubbing his hands together in anticipation.

He serves us each a plate before taking his seat at the head of the table. "Dig in," he says, picking up his own fork without waiting.

We eat in silence for a few moments. The food is good, I'm sure it is, but regardless it sits like a rock in the nervous pit of my stomach and each mouthful is a struggle to chew and swallow without gagging. April doesn't seem nervous in the slightest and tucks into her food happily.

"S'really good, Dad," she says, cutting off another piece with the side of her fork.

"Glad you like it," Mr. O'Neil replies with a proud puff of his chest. "What do you think, Donnie?"

I force down the current forkful and attempt a smile. "Very good, sir," I say quietly, lifting up another bite so he is more inclined to believe my lie.

He seems content with my answer and turns his attention back to his own meal. The next few moments drag slowly with only the clink of cutlery and the dull thud of glasses set on the table to break up the awkward silence. I should say something. It is rude to sit in silence when you've been invited for dinner. Isn't it? I have no idea. I have never been invited to a real dinner before. I should have researched. What was I thinking walking in here without doing any research? I should have worn clothes.

"Did you tell Donatello the good news, April?" Mr. O'Neil says, interrupting my increasingly manic thoughts.

I pause with my fork lifted in the air catching sight of the angry furrow of April's brow. She takes a slow sip of water before setting the glass down and leveling her gaze on the wall to avoid having to look at either of us. She clears her throat and reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

"It isn't that big a deal, Dad," she murmurs, obviously not interested in this line of conversation.

My nerves flare to life and the tightness in my throat travels downward to sit heavy and crushing on my chest. Mr. O'Neil waves off her comment with a scoff and a chuckle.

"Don't be so modest," he insists, turning to me. "April got into North Western," he says with a grin and proud gleam in his eyes. "Isn't that wonderful?"

_Chicago. She's going to leave and you're never going to see her again._

My vision shrinks to a pinpoint and I stare down at the remains of my dinner. His words register. I heard them. I understand them, but I was not prepared. I should have been. I know she sent out her applications. I proofread her essays and saw the stack of brochures on her desk. This was inevitable. There was a tiny, horrible, selfish part of me that hoped she wouldn't get in to any of those far-flung schools. That she would stay here. That she would stay with me. Guilt and shame burn a path across my face and I swallow back the bitter taste they leave in my mouth.

"That's…that's wonderful," I say, the words little more than a whisper and not a convincing one at that. I clear my throat and try again. "That's great you…you worked really hard…congratulations."

I can see it in her eyes when I trust myself enough to look up; pity. It's sharp and mournful and I look away from the shame of it. I don't want her pity. I don't want her to feel bad. It wasn't a lie. She did work hard for this. She deserves success. She deserves to be happy. What she doesn't deserve is for me to ruin this for her. I pick up my fork again, but I can't bring myself to eat. If Mr. O'Neil notices the sudden uncomfortable turn he doesn't pay it any mind, too excited to be stopped.

"They even offered her a scholarship," he says, beaming. "It's one of the best programs in the country and to think…"

"Dad," April says, cutting him off with a quiet yet stern voice and a rest of her hand atop his. "We don't have to talk about this now."

_You're ruining this for her. You're selfish. You're ruining it for both of them._

"Did you hear back from any of the other schools?" I ask trying my best to sound genuine.

The pity is back, her eyes darkened by the sadness in her gaze. "Not yet," she replies, her voice gentle and guarded as though she is talking down a wild animal. "Probably within the next few weeks."

I nod and look back down at my plate. "Your essay was excellent," I say, taking in a slow breath that I hope will settle the tremor in my voice. "They'd be stupid not to accept you."

I want to leave. I want to run and never look back. I never should have come here tonight. I don't belong. It was obvious before and now it is painful in the glaring wrongness of it all. I've been playing at being human at being normal. I tricked myself into thinking I could have this; that this would ever be anything more than a wonderful interlude in a life only made for isolation and solitude. She's going to leave. She's going to realize what she's missing, that I'm holding her back from a real life and I'm never going to see her again. Never hold her again or hear her say that she loves me.

_You knew this was coming. She's human. This is what is supposed to happen for her. Don't ruin this you selfish monster. Go back to your sewer where you belong._

"I…I should get going," I murmur, standing up too quickly and almost knocking over April's water as my knee hits the underside of the table.

"Donnie," April is on her feet and the warmth of her hand on my arm is almost enough to make me forget that we have an audience.

"I have a curfew," I reply, which isn't entirely a lie. "Thank you for dinner, Mr. O'Neil," I say with something close to a smile.

I duck into the hallway and make a beeline for April's room. It's rude and childish and I'm being ridiculous. I don't care. I have to leave. I have to get away. I can't sit and pretend I'm all right while he carries on as though April leaving is the best thing to ever happen. I snag my bo-staff from the corner and slide it into its holster. My hand reaches out for the window when the bedroom door closes behind me.

"Donatello," she says sharply and I cringe at the tone. "Don't you dare go out that window."

My fingers curl around the frame but I don't move. She's beside me in an instant, wrapping her arms around me in a hug that begs to be returned. The tightness is back in my throat and my arms move to embrace her. I can't not. I close my eyes and lean down to breathe in her scent. I should explain myself. She deserves an explanation. I try to speak, the words struggling to form anything beyond pitiful vowel sounds.

"I'm sorry," I finally manage with a mournful sigh. "I didn't…I didn't mean to ruin dinner."

"You didn't ruin anything," she says, tightening her grip. "I'm sorry he just sprung that on you. I was going to tell you later."

_Fix this. You need to fix this._

"No…no it…its fine. I…I overreacted is all," I reply, kissing the top of her head. "I'm so proud of you. You deserve this."

I can feel her smile against the skin of my arm as she gives me another squeeze. "Thank you," she whispers, swaying slightly where we stand. "And this doesn't mean I have to go to Chicago," she adds. "It's only the first letter. I applied to schools nearby too."

"I'm sure you'll have your pick," I say quietly.

She sighs and nuzzles into the crook of my shoulder. "Well, I guess we'll just have to wait and see."

I close my eyes once more and take in a slow breath. I want to commit everything about her to memory. Her scent and the constant warmth of her skin, the way each freckle sits across her the bridge of her nose, the way her entire body lifts and falls when she sighs. I need to memorize it all, categorize it away for the future when she isn't in my arms. Maybe everything will be all right. Maybe this won't be the end. She said she loves me. That must mean something. It has to mean something. There has to be more to this world than fighting and hiding and cruelty even for something like me. I have to hope this can last. I guess we'll wait and see.


	15. Chapter 15

"So, you just lean forward a little bit to drop in and then shift back so you don't fall on your face," I explain, teetering on the edge of the small half-pipe. "Easy."

Tia gives a snorting laugh in reply and remains firmly rooted to her seat at the top. "Says you," she says, flicking her hair out of her eyes. "I think we have very different ideas of what easy is."

"Aw, come on. You can do it," I insist with a grin, wiggling the front of the board with my foot. "I won't let you fall."

Her eyes narrow slightly and she levels a very suspicious look in my direction. "Oh, I'm on to you now," she says slowly with a knowing nod. "You know I'll fall off that deathtrap on wheels and then you can swoop in like a big, green hero to stop me from scattering my brains all over the ground."

"Noooo," I reply, stretching out the word as I desperately search for another excuse as that was my exact plan.

She laughs and leans back on her hands, kicking her heels against the top of the half-pipe. "How about I just watch you," she suggests. "Show me a trick."

"All right," I say, taking in a deep breath. "But, it's only a small skate park, so I could totally do something cooler if I had more room and…"

"Excuses, excuses, Freckles," she says, shaking her head with a wiggle of her eyebrows. "I'm starting to think you don't even know how to skate."

I gasp and press my hand to my heart. "How dare you," I whisper in mock indignation. "You will eat those words, Feinstein."

"I'm hearing a lot of talk and not seeing any skating, Hamato," she replies, lifting her hands to waggle her shoulders in challenge.

A smile cracks easily through my reserve and I try to hold back a laugh with little success. I need to focus. What does Master Splinter say? Clear my mind of all distractions. She looks really pretty tonight. Not now. I need to focus. I need to do the coolest trick ever. I drop into the half-pipe, leaning forward before shifting my weight to keep my balance. The loud roll of the wheels on the cement is beautiful and the cool air slides over my skin as I swerve and flip through the course. The bitter cold of the winter finally broke in the last couple weeks and I'm glad to be able to stay outside without layers of winter clothes. I dip and skate up to where Tia sits, gripping my board with one hand while doing a handstand beside her on the other. I hold the pose and shoot her a grin.

"Fancy meeting you here," I say.

She rolls her eyes but the expression is playful, not annoyed and I am well-versed in that subtle difference. "All right, that was pretty awesome," she admits.

She is suddenly very close to me and somewhere in the back of my mind I think I should probably close my eyes or maybe back away. There isn't time. Her lips are warm and soft and I can smell cherries when she presses her lips to mine. I think my heart stops. That seems entirely possible. It's over as quickly as it began but the shock settles in like a landslide and before I can stop myself I'm losing my balance and tumbling over the lip of the half-pipe in a flailing mess of shell and skateboard.

"Are you okay?!" she cries, her face popping into view.

I stretch out onto my side and attempt to look cool even as my skateboard slowly rolls towards me and bumps into the back of my head. "Yeah, yeah…I meant to do that," I reply with a grin.

I don't think I will ever stop smiling. I can't wait to tell my brothers.


	16. Chapter 16

**Author's Notes: The conclusion to the Winter Interludes, a Leo POV that sets of the third and proper installment of the Click series. Hope you enjoy and thanks again for those that take the time to like or comment, it really means a lot :0)**

* * *

The television murmurs and prattles away in the background, but I don't focus on the cookie-cutter sitcom flickering across the screen. The book open in my lap is far more interesting. I'm not the only one who isn't paying attention. Donnie sits on up on the couch, clicking away at his laptop. I know he's lost in concentration as the tip of his tongue slides out the corner of his mouth. I should turn off the television, but I'm not prepared to deal with the silence that will follow. So I leave it on, letting the inane jokes and grating laugh-track fill any need to fill the quiet with conversation.

Things are still not right between us. It isn't that they're bad. I can't pinpoint an exact moment when things broke. There wasn't a huge, catastrophic event that left us irrevocably changed for the worse. It was a slow, gradual slide that culminated in Donnie being captured. We weren't doing well before that and after, after is this; the long, painful silence between two people who have nothing to say to one another. I shouldn't let this fester. It can't continue. We're a team and I'm the leader. He can resent me, resent my decisions, but he will respect those decisions. I can't let my own fear or guilt keep me from setting things right. If things are broken between us there has to be a plan to fix it.

I snap the cover of my book shut and set it aside. There is no better time than the present. I turn, preparing an entire course of action in the few seconds it takes to look up at my brother. I expect to find him, nose inches from the screen, typing with a flurry of desperate keystrokes. He isn't looking at his computer. He seems to have forgotten it is even in front of him. There is a tremble in his arms that threatens to move throughout his entire body with every pained clench of muscles and lock of his joints. His eyes are wide and fixed with laser precision on the television screen. I follow his gaze, the cheap sets and bright colors of the sitcom pushed aside by the rushed voices of reporters and the crackle of camera flashes.

It's her. She's silent for once, standing behind a wall of stone-faced police officers and harsh-eyed lawyers clutching briefcases. The reporters rush the courthouse steps and jockey for position with microphones and recorders at the ready. Her expression never changes; cold eyes taking in the scene with a calculated air that hints at boredom of the entire situation. Her dark hair is sleek and held back with the same crisp and precise lines of her suit. Even in the face of possible federal imprisonment not a hair is out of place, not a line of makeup too-harsh or nail not meticulously manicured. If she is at all worried she isn't showing it.

The tallest of her legal team approaches the swarm of reporters. He acts as a buffer as she is ushered off into a waiting car with dark-tinted windows. He spews the usual lines, crying pleas of innocence and falsified evidence. It is the same song and dance they've been putting on since her arrest. The trial grows closer with each passing day and the thought never crossed my mind what that would exactly mean. It is going to be a media circus. Her face, those cold eyes are going to be everywhere; impossible to avoid, impossible to forget.

The picture on the screen snaps away to black and Donnie sets the remote down on the arm of the couch. The silence that follows pushes down from every corner of the lair, hulking and smothering with the weight of it. He's on his feet before I can even consider going to his side. I scramble after him, afraid of what he might do if left on his own. He goes for his lab as I knew he would and I take the steps two at time, afraid he might try to lock me out.

"Donnie?" I call out when I'm met with an empty room.

Panic starts to scratch and fray at the edge of my thoughts until I hear something close to a whimper from the direction of his computer desk. He is crammed into the small space beneath the desk, his knees drawn up to his chest and his thumb pressed down so hard on the opposite wrist the green skin has almost turned white. I drop to my knees and feel that horrible, crushing weight of uncertainty settle on my shoulders as I watch him struggle to take in a breath. I don't know what to do. I'm supposed to help. I'm the leader and I don't have a plan for this. I don't know the way.

"I…I can't," he says, each word more like a croak. "I c-can't…I can't breathe," he insists, clutching at the top of his plastron with desperate, heaves of his chest none of which seem to bring any relief.

"All right, it's…you're going to be all right," I assure him, inching forward to stop him from pressing on his scar. "Breathe in through your nose. You can do it. It's just like meditation. You got this."

"C-can't," he whimpers, shaking his head.

I reach out and take hold of his other hand as well. "You can, we'll do it together," I reply, sitting up straight as I take in a slow breath through my nose. "Come on, sit up. You can do this."

"N-no!" he cries and the sudden outburst of anger makes me lean back in surprise.

He tears his hands from my grip and pushes against the underside of the desk, rattling the computer on top. He clutches his knees and takes in another ragged breath. I don't know what to do. I'm failing him again. My chest tightens and I try desperately to push aside the encroaching doubt and failure that settles bitter in my mouth. I take in another slow breath and search for the calm and stillness I have spent years cultivating. The desk scrapes across the cement floor as I push it aside to reach my brother. There's a reason he always searches out Mikey, because Mikey gives him what he needs. It's tangible, steady reassurance without having to ask for it. Donnie doesn't need a lecture or a lesson in meditation, he needs the reassurance that he's safe.

"It's all right," I say quietly, wrapping my arms around him as best I can in the cramped space. "You're home, you're safe. It's all right."

He goes still for a moment, his breath catching in a strangle hiccup in his throat. I don't let go. The stillness fades away and he returns the embrace, clinging to me with more than a little desperation. I don't know how long we stay like this. The only sound in the room is the quiet hum of the lamps overhead and the occasional drip from a pipe off in the distance. His breath eventually evens out and his grip loosens around an embarrassed sniffle. He lowers his head against my shoulder, hiding his face from view.

"I…I'm sorry," he murmurs, sniffling yet again.

The apology cuts like a knife and the shame in it makes me wince. I tighten my grip and pull him closer. I need to make this better.

"It's all right," I say quietly, repeating the words like a mantra. "It's all right."

He sniffles and I think he might argue the point but instead he wriggles from my grip and pushes me aside. I sit back on my haunches and watch him scramble over to one of the workbenches along the wall. His movements are sharp and frantic and he's still wiping at his eyes. I move slowly, not wanting to startle him.

"Donnie…"

"No, Leo," he says, stopping me before I can start. "I can't…I can't go back there," he insists, his voice breaking on the last word. His eyes close and he takes in a shaking breath. "I need to stop her. I can't, you don't understand, what she did…what she'll do."

Lightly I rest a hand atop his shoulder and tighten my grip when he flinches. He's right. I don't know what she did to him, not really. We all know he was held captive, but he has kept the specifics a secret. I don't need to know. I'm not going to push him to talk about it. All I need to know is that she hurt my brother, that she's still hurting him and there is only one way to deal with someone who hurts my family.

"She's not going to get away with it, Donnie," I say, giving his shoulder a squeeze.

He bites his bottom lip and shakes his head. "She's rich, Leo," he says, his voice heavy with defeat. "They'll never convict her. You saw all her lawyers. She's going to buy her way out of this…"

"That doesn't matter."

The sharp tone in my voice leaves him silent. He slowly turns to look at me with quiet shock in his eyes. There's still a slight tremble to his movements and if he wasn't wearing his mask I'm sure I could see dark circles under his eyes. She did this to him. Part of him is still locked away in that place, the ghost of whatever happened clinging to every day since. He was always the dreamer, the thinker. He can make amazing and wonderful creations out of other people's trash. She took that sense of wonder from him, the spark in his eye replaced with a constant worry and fear. She took that from him. I'll take something she loves from her.

"She's going to pay for what she did," I say sternly. "One way or another."


End file.
